It was called into service, Scarlett set the date of her wedding

for the day before his. Ellen protested but Charles pleaded with

new-found eloquence, for he was impatient to be off to South

Carolina to join Wade Hampton's Legion, and Gerald sided with the

two young people. He was excited by the war fever and pleased

that Scarlett had made so good a match, and who was he to stand in

the way of young love when there was a war? Ellen, distracted,

finally gave in as other mothers throughout the South were doing.

Their leisured world had been turned topsy-turvy, and their

pleadings, prayers and advice availed nothing against the powerful

forces sweeping them along.

The South was intoxicated with enthusiasm and excitement.

Everyone knew that one battle would end the war and every young

man hastened to enlist before the war should end--hastened to

marry his sweetheart before he rushed off to Virginia to strike a

blow at the Yankees. There were dozens of war weddings in the

County and there was little time for the sorrow of parting, for

everyone was too busy and excited for either solemn thoughts or

tears. The ladies were making uniforms, knitting socks and

rolling bandages, and the men were drilling and shooting. Train

loads of troops passed through Jonesboro daily on their way north

to Atlanta and Virginia. Some detachments were gaily uniformed in

the scarlets and light blues and greens of select social-militia

companies; some small groups were in homespun and coonskin caps;

others, ununiformed, were in broadcloth and fine linen; all were

half-drilled, half-armed, wild with excitement and shouting as

though en route to a picnic. The sight of these men threw the

County boys into a panic for fear the war would be over before

they could reach Virginia, and preparations for the Troop's

departure were speeded.

In the midst of this turmoil, preparations went forward for

Scarlett's wedding and, almost before she knew it, she was clad in

Ellen's wedding dress and veil, coming down the wide stairs of

Tara on her father's arm, to face a house packed full with guests.

Afterward she remembered, as from a dream, the hundreds of candles

flaring on the walls, her mother's face, loving, a little

bewildered, her lips moving in a silent prayer for her daughter's

happiness, Gerald flushed with brandy and pride that his daughter

was marrying both money, a fine name and an old one--and Ashley,

standing at the bottom of the steps with Melanie's arm through

his.

When she saw the look on his face, she thought: "This can't be

real. It can't be. It's a nightmare. I'll wake up and find it's

all been a nightmare. I mustn't think of it now, or I'll begin

screaming in front of all these people. I can't think now. I'll

think later, when I can stand it--when I can't see his eyes."

It was all very dreamlike, the passage through the aisle of

smiling people, Charles' scarlet face and stammering voice and her

own replies, so startlingly clear, so cold. And the congratulations

afterward and the kissing and the toasts and the dancing--all, all

like a dream. Even the feel of Ashley's kiss upon her cheek, even

Melanie's soft whisper, "Now, we're really and truly sisters," were

unreal. Even the excitement caused by the swooning spell that

overtook Charles' plump emotional aunt, Miss Pittypat Hamilton, had

the quality of a nightmare.

But when the dancing and toasting were finally ended and the dawn

was coming, when all the Atlanta guests who could be crowded into

Tara and the overseer's house had gone to sleep on beds, sofas and

pallets on the floor and all the neighbors had gone home to rest

in preparation for the wedding at Twelve Oaks the next day, then

the dreamlike trance shattered like crystal before reality. The

reality was the blushing Charles, emerging from her dressing room

in his nightshirt, avoiding the startled look she gave him over

the high-pulled sheet.

Of course, she knew that married people occupied the same bed but

she had never given the matter a thought before. It seemed very

natural in the case of her mother and father, but she had never

applied it to herself. Now for the first time since the barbecue

she realized just what she had brought on herself. The thought of

this strange boy whom she hadn't really wanted to marry getting

into bed with her, when her heart was breaking with an agony of

regret at her hasty action and the anguish of losing Ashley

forever, was too much to be borne. As he hesitatingly approached

the bed she spoke in a hoarse whisper.

"I'll scream out loud if you come near me. I will! I will--at

the top of my voice! Get away from me! Don't you dare touch me!"

So Charles Hamilton spent his wedding night in an armchair in the

corner, not too unhappily, for he understood, or thought he

understood, the modesty and delicacy of his bride. He was willing

to wait until her fears subsided, only--only-- He sighed as he

twisted about seeking a comfortable position, for he was going

away to the war so very soon.

Nightmarish as her own wedding had been, Ashley's wedding was even

worse. Scarlett stood in her apple-green "second-day" dress in

the parlor of Twelve Oaks amid the blaze of hundreds of candles,

jostled by the same throng as the night before, and saw the plain

little face of Melanie Hamilton glow into beauty as she became

Melanie Wilkes. Now, Ashley was gone forever. Her Ashley. No,

not her Ashley now. Had he ever been hers? It was all so mixed

up in her mind and her mind was so tired, so bewildered. He had

said he loved her, but what was it that had separated them? If

she could only remember. She had stilled the County's gossiping

tongue by marrying Charles, but what did that matter now? It had

seemed so important once, but now it didn't seem important at all.

All that mattered was Ashley. Now he was gone and she was married

to a man she not only did not love but for whom she had an active

contempt.

Oh, how she regretted it all. She had often heard of people

cutting off their noses to spite their faces but heretofore it had

been only a figure of speech. Now she knew just what it meant.

And mingled with her frenzied desire to be free of Charles and

safely back at Tara, an unmarried girl again, ran the knowledge

that she had only herself to blame. Ellen had tried to stop her

and she would not listen.

So she danced through the night of Ashley's wedding in a daze and

said things mechanically and smiled and irrelevantly wondered at

the stupidity of people who thought her a happy bride and could

not see that her heart was broken. Well, thank God, they couldn't

see!

That night after Mammy had helped her undress and had departed and

Charles had emerged shyly from the dressing room, wondering if he

was to spend a second night in the horsehair chair, she burst into

tears. She cried until Charles climbed into bed beside her and

tried to comfort her, cried without words until no more tears

would come and at last she lay sobbing quietly on his shoulder.

If there had not been a war, there would have been a week of

visiting about the County, with balls and barbecues in honor of

the two newly married couples before they set off to Saratoga or

White Sulphur for wedding trips. If there had not been a war,

Scarlett would have had third-day and fourth-day and fifth-day

dresses to wear to the Fontaine and Calvert and Tarleton parties

in her honor. But there were no parties now and no wedding trips.

A week after the wedding Charles left to join Colonel Wade

Hampton, and two weeks later Ashley and the Troop departed,

leaving the whole County bereft.

In those two weeks, Scarlett never saw Ashley alone, never had a

private word with him. Not even at the terrible moment of

parting, when he stopped by Tara on his way to the train, did she

have a private talk. Melanie, bonneted and shawled, sedate in

newly acquired matronly dignity, hung on his arm and the entire

personnel of Tara, black and white, turned out to see Ashley off

to the war.

Melanie said: "You must kiss Scarlett, Ashley. She's my sister

now," and Ashley bent and touched her cheek with cold lips, his

face drawn and taut. Scarlett could hardly take any joy from that

kiss, so sullen was her heart at Melly's prompting it. Melanie

smothered her with an embrace at parting.

"You will come to Atlanta and visit me and Aunt Pittypat, won't

you? Oh, darling, we want to have you so much! We want to know

Charlie's wife better."

Five weeks passed during which letters, shy, ecstatic, loving,

came from Charles in South Carolina telling of his love, his plans

for the future when the war was over, his desire to become a hero

for her sake and his worship of his commander, Wade Hampton. In

the seventh week, there came a telegram from Colonel Hampton

himself, and then a letter, a kind, dignified letter of condolence.

Charles was dead. The colonel would have wired earlier, but

Charles, thinking his illness a trifling one, did not wish to have

his family worried. The unfortunate boy had not only been cheated

of the love he thought he had won but also of his high hopes of

honor and glory on the field of battle. He had died ignominiously

and swiftly of pneumonia, following measles, without ever having

gotten any closer to the Yankees than the camp in South Carolina.