It frightened her, the desperate choking sound he made. She had a

terrified thought that he was drunk and Melanie was afraid of

drunkenness. But when he raised his head and she caught one

glimpse of his eyes, she stepped swiftly into the room, closed the

door softly behind her and went to him. She had never seen a man

cry but she had comforted the tears of many children. When she put

a soft hand on his shoulder, his arms went suddenly around her

skirts. Before she knew how it happened she was sitting on the bed

and he was on the floor, his head in her lap and his arms and hands

clutching her in a frantic clasp that hurt her.

She stroked the black head gently and said: "There! There!"

soothingly. "There! She's going to get well."

At her words, his grip tightened and he began speaking rapidly,

hoarsely, babbling as though to a grave which would never give up

Its secrets, babbling the truth for the first time in his life,

baring himself mercilessly to Melanie who was at first, utterly

uncomprehending, utterly maternal. He talked brokenly, burrowing

his head in her lap, tugging at the folds of her skirt. Sometimes

his words were blurred, muffled, sometimes they came far too

clearly to her ears, harsh, bitter words of confession and

abasement, speaking of things she had never heard even a woman

mention, secret things that brought the hot blood of modesty to her

cheeks and made her grateful for his bowed head.

She patted his head as she did little Beau's and said: "Hush!

Captain Butler! You must not tell me these things! You are not

yourself. Hush!" But his voice went on in a wild torrent of

outpouring and he held to her dress as though it were his hope of

life.

He accused himself of deeds she did not understand; he mumbled the

name of Belle Watling and then he shook her with his violence as he

cried: "I've killed Scarlett, I've killed her. You don't

understand. She didn't want this baby and--"

"You must hush! You are beside yourself! Not want a baby? Why

every woman wants--"

"No! No! You want babies. But she doesn't. Not my babies--"

"You must stop!"

"You don't understand. She didn't want a baby and I made her.

This--this baby--it's all my damned fault. We hadn't been sleeping

together--"

"Hush, Captain Butler! It is not fit--"

"And I was drunk and insane and I wanted to hurt her--because she

had hurt me. I wanted to--and I did--but she didn't want me.

She's never wanted me. She never has and I tried--I tried so hard

and--"

"Oh, please!"

"And I didn't know about this baby till the other day--when she

fell. She didn't know where I was to write to me and tell me--but

she wouldn't have written me if she had known. I tell you--I tell

you I'd have come straight home--if I'd only known--whether she

wanted me home or not. . . ."

"Oh, yes, I know you would!"

"God, I've been crazy these weeks, crazy and drunk! And when she

told me, there on the steps--what did I do? What did I say? I

laughed and said: 'Cheer up. Maybe you'll have a miscarriage.'

And she--"

Melanie suddenly went white and her eyes widened with horror as she

looked down at the black tormented head writhing in her lap. The

afternoon sun streamed in through the open window and suddenly she

saw, as for the first time, how large and brown and strong his

hands were and how thickly the black hairs grew along the backs of

them. Involuntarily, she recoiled from them. They seemed so

predatory, so ruthless and yet, twined in her skirt, so broken, so

helpless.

Could it be possible that he had heard and believed the preposterous

lie about Scarlett and Ashley and become jealous? True, he had left

town immediately after the scandal broke but-- No, it couldn't be

that. Captain Butler was always going off abruptly on journeys. He

couldn't have believed the gossip. He was too sensible. If that

had been the cause of the trouble, wouldn't he have tried to shoot

Ashley? Or at least demanded an explanation?

No, it couldn't be that. It was only that he was drunk and sick

from strain and his mind was running wild, like a man delirious,

babbling wild fantasies. Men couldn't stand strains as well as

women. Something had upset him, perhaps he had had a small quarrel

with Scarlett and magnified it. Perhaps some of the awful things

he said were true. But all of them could not be true. Oh, not

that last, certainly! No man could say such a thing to a woman he

loved as passionately as this man loved Scarlett. Melanie had never

seen evil, never seen cruelty, and now that she looked on them for

the first time she found them too inconceivable to believe. He was

drunk and sick. And sick children must be humored.

"There! There!" she said crooningly. "Hush, now. I understand."

He raised his head violently and looked up at her with bloodshot

eyes, fiercely throwing off her hands.

"No, by God, you don't understand! You can't understand! You're--

you're too good to understand. You don't believe me but it's all

true and I'm a dog. Do you know why I did it? I was mad, crazy

with jealousy. She never cared for me and I thought I could make

her care. But she never cared. She doesn't love me. She never

has. She loves--"

His passionate, drunken gaze met hers and he stopped, mouth open,

as though for the first time he realized to whom he was speaking.

Her face was white and strained but her eyes were steady and sweet

and full of pity and unbelief. There was a luminous serenity in

them and the innocence in the soft brown depths struck him like a

blow in the face, clearing some of the alcohol out of his brain,

halting his mad, careering words in mid-flight. He trailed off

into a mumble, his eyes dropping away from hers, his lids batting

rapidly as he fought back to sanity.

"I'm a cad," he muttered, dropping his head tiredly back into her

lap. "But not that big a cad. And if I did tell you, you wouldn't

believe me, would you? You're too good to believe me. I never

before knew anybody who was really good. You wouldn't believe me,

would you?"

"No, I wouldn't believe you," said Melanie soothingly, beginning to

stroke his hair again. "She's going to get well. There, Captain

Butler! Don't cry! She's going to get well."

CHAPTER LVII

It was a pale, thin woman that Rhett put on the Jonesboro train a

month later. Wade and Ella, who were to make the trip with her,

were silent and uneasy at their mother's still, white face. They

clung close to Prissy, for even to their childish minds there was

something frightening in the cold, impersonal atmosphere between

their mother and their stepfather.

Weak as she was, Scarlett was going home to Tara. She felt that

she would stifle if she stayed in Atlanta another day, with her

tired mind forcing itself round and round the deeply worn circle of

futile thoughts about the mess she was in. She was sick in body

and weary in mind and she was standing like a lost child in a

nightmare country in which there was no familiar landmark to guide

her.

As she had once fled Atlanta before an invading army, so she was

fleeing it again, pressing her worries into the back of her mind

with her old defense against the world: "I won't think of it now.

I can't stand it if I do. I'll think of it tomorrow at Tara.

Tomorrow's another day." It seemed that if she could only get back

to the stillness and the green cotton fields of home, all her

troubles would fall away and she would somehow be able to mold her

shattered thoughts into something she could live by.

Rhett watched the train until it was out of sight and on his face

there was a look of speculative bitterness that was not pleasant.

He sighed, dismissed the carriage and mounting his horse, rode down

Ivy Street toward Melanie's house.

It was a warm morning and Melanie sat on the vine-shaded porch, her

mending basket piled high with socks. Confusion and dismay filled

her when she saw Rhett alight from his horse and toss the reins

over the arm of the cast-iron negro boy who stood at the sidewalk.

She had not seen him alone since that too dreadful day when

Scarlett had been so ill and he had been so--well--so drunk.

Melanie hated even to think the word. She had spoken to him only

casually during Scarlett's convalescence and, on those occasions,

she had found it difficult to meet his eyes. However, he had been

his usual bland self at those times, and never by look or word

showed that such a scene had taken place between them. Ashley had

told her once that men frequently did not remember things said and

done in drink and Melanie prayed heartily that Captain Butler's

memory had failed him on that occasion. She felt she would rather

die than learn that he remembered his outpourings. Timidity and

embarrassment swept over her and waves of color mounted her cheeks

as he came up the walk. But perhaps he had only come to ask if

Beau could spend the day with Bonnie. Surely he wouldn't have the

bad taste to come and thank her for what she had done that day!

She rose to meet him, noting with surprise, as always, how lightly

he walked for a big man.

"Scarlett has gone?"

"Yes. Tara will do her good," he said smiling. "Sometimes I think

she's like the giant Antaeus who became stronger each time he

touched Mother Earth. It doesn't do for Scarlett to stay away too

long from the patch of red mud she loves. The sight of cotton

growing will do her more good than all Dr. Meade's tonics."

"Won't you sit down?" said Melanie, her hands fluttering. He was

so very large and male, and excessively male creatures always

discomposed her. They seem to radiate a force and vitality that

made her feel smaller and weaker even than she was. He looked so

swarthy and formidable and the heavy muscles in his shoulders

swelled against his white linen coat in a way that frightened her.

It seemed impossible that she had seen all this strength and

insolence brought low. And she had held that black head in her

lap!

"Oh, dear!" she thought in distress and blushed again.

"Miss Melly," he said gently, "does my presence annoy you? Would

you rather I went away? Pray be frank."

"Oh!" she thought. "He does remember! And he knows how upset I

am!"

She looked up at him, imploringly, and suddenly her embarrassment

and confusion faded. His eyes were so quiet, so kind, so

understanding that she wondered how she could ever have been silly

enough to be flurried. His face looked tired and, she thought with

surprise, more than a little sad. How could she have even thought

he'd be ill bred enough to bring up subjects both would rather

forget?

"Poor thing, he's been so worried about Scarlett," she thought, and

managing a smile, she said: "Do sit down, Captain Butler."

He sat down heavily and watched her as she picked up her darning.

"Miss Melly, I've come to ask a very great favor of you and," he

smiled and his mouth twisted down, "to enlist your aid in a

deception from which I know you will shrink."

"A--deception?"

"Yes. Really, I've come to talk business to you."

"Oh, dear. Then it's Mr. Wilkes you'd better see. I'm such a

goose about business. I'm not smart like Scarlett."

"I'm afraid Scarlett is too smart for her own good," he said, "and

that is exactly what I want to talk to you about. You know how--