In which some coins were knotted.

"She was saying thank you and something about bringing me some

money every week and just then Uncle Peter drove up and saw me!"

Melly collapsed into tears and laid her head on the pillow. "And

when he saw who was with me, he--Scarlett, he HOLLERED at me!

Nobody has ever hollered at me before in my whole life. And he

said, 'You git in dis hyah cah'ige dis minute!' Of course, I did,

and all the way home he blessed me out and wouldn't let me explain

and said he was going to tell Aunt Pitty. Scarlett, do go down

and beg him not to tell her. Perhaps he will listen to you. It

will kill Auntie if she knows I ever even looked that woman in the

face. Will you?"

"Yes, I will. But let's see how much money is in here. It feels

heavy."

She untied the knot and a handful of gold coins rolled out on the

bed.

"Scarlett, there's fifty dollars here! And in gold!" cried

Melanie, awed, as she counted the bright pieces. "Tell me, do you

think it's all right to use this kind--well, money made--er--this

way for the boys? Don't you think that maybe God will understand

that she wanted to help and won't care if it is tainted? When I

think of how many things the hospital needs--"

But Scarlett was not listening. She was looking at the dirty

handkerchief, and humiliation and fury were filling her. There

was a monogram in the corner in which were the initials "R. K. B."

In her top drawer was a handkerchief just like this, one that

Rhett Butler had lent her only yesterday to wrap about the stems

of wild flowers they had picked. She had planned to return it to

him when he came to supper tonight.

So Rhett consorted with that vile Watling creature and gave her

money. That was where the contribution to the hospital came from.

Blockade gold. And to think that Rhett would have the gall to

look a decent woman in the face after being with that creature!

And to think that she could have believed he was in love with her!

This proved he couldn't be.

Bad women and all they involved were mysterious and revolting

matters to her. She knew that men patronized these women for

purposes which no lady should mention--or, if she did mention

them, in whispers and by indirection and euphemism. She had

always thought that only common vulgar men visited such women.

Before this moment, it had never occurred to her that nice men--

that is, men she met at nice homes and with whom she danced--could

possibly do such things. It opened up an entirely new field of

thought and one that was horrifying. Perhaps all men did this!

It was bad enough that they forced their wives to go through such

indecent performances but to actually seek out low women and pay

them for such accommodation! Oh, men were so vile, and Rhett

Butler was the worst of them all!

She would take this handkerchief and fling it in his face and show

him the door and never, never speak to him again. But no, of

course she couldn't do that. She could never, never let him know

she even realized that bad women existed, much less that he

visited them. A lady could never do that.

"Oh," she thought in fury. "If I just wasn't a lady, what

wouldn't I tell that varmint!"

And, crumbling the handkerchief in her hand, she went down the

stairs to the kitchen in search of Uncle Peter. As she passed the

stove, she shoved the handkerchief into the flames and with

impotent anger watched it burn.

CHAPTER XIV

Hope was rolling high in every Southern heart as the summer of 1863

came in. Despite privation and hardships, despite food speculators

and kindred scourges, despite death and sickness and suffering

which had now left their mark on nearly every family, the South was

again saying "One more victory and the war is over," saying it with

even more happy assurance than in the summer before. The Yankees

were proving a hard nut to crack but they were cracking at last.

Christmas of 1862 had been a happy one for Atlanta, for the whole

South. The Confederacy had scored a smashing victory, at

Fredericksburg and the Yankee dead and wounded were counted in the

thousands. There was universal rejoicing in that holiday season,

rejoicing and thankfulness that the tide was turning. The army in

butternut were now seasoned fighters, their generals had proven

their mettle, and everyone knew that when the campaign reopened in

the spring, the Yankees would be crushed for good and all.

Spring came and the fighting recommenced. May came and the

Confederacy won another great victory at Chancellorsville. The

South roared with elation.

Closer at home, a Union cavalry dash into Georgia had been turned

into a Confederate triumph. Folks were still laughing and slapping

each other on the back and saying: "Yes, sir! When old Nathan

Bedford Forrest gets after them, they better git!" Late in April,

Colonel Streight and eighteen hundred Yankee cavalry had made a

surprise raid into Georgia, aiming at Rome, only a little more than

sixty miles north of Atlanta. They had ambitious plans to cut the

vitally important railroad between Atlanta and Tennessee and then

swing southward into Atlanta to destroy the factories and the war

supplies concentrated there in that key city of the Confederacy.

It was a bold stroke and it would have cost the South dearly,

except for Forrest. With only one-third as many men--but what men

and what riders!--he had started after them, engaged them before

they even reached Rome, harassed them day and night and finally

captured the entire force!

The news reached Atlanta almost simultaneously with the news of the

victory at Chancellorsville, and the town fairly rocked with

exultation and with laughter. Chancellorsville might be a more

important victory but the capture of Streight's raiders made the

Yankees positively ridiculous.

"No, sir, they'd better not fool with old Forrest," Atlanta said

gleefully as the story was told over and over.

The tide of the Confederacy's fortune was running strong and full

now, sweeping the people jubilantly along on its flood. True, the

Yankees under Grant had been besieging Vicksburg since the middle

of May. True, the South had suffered a sickening loss when

Stonewall Jackson had been fatally wounded at Chancellorsville.

True, Georgia had lost one of her bravest and most brilliant sons

when General T. R. R. Cobb had been killed at Fredericksburg. But

the Yankees just couldn't stand any more defeats like Fredericksburg

and Chancellorsville. They'd have to give in, and then this cruel

war would be over.

The first days of July came and with them the rumor, later

confirmed by dispatches, that Lee was marching into Pennsylvania.

Lee in the enemy's territory! Lee forcing battle! This was the

last fight of the war!

Atlanta was wild with excitement, pleasure and a hot thirst for