I hear. And I'm not going to let Scarlett leave me, either."

Scarlett had no intention of leaving, no intention of placing

herself where she could not have the first news of Ashley. No,

even if Miss Pitty died, she wouldn't leave this spot. Somewhere,

Ashley was fighting, perhaps dying, and the newspaper office was

the only place where she could learn the truth.

She looked about the crowd, picking out friends and neighbors, Mrs.

Meade with her bonnet askew and her arm through that of fifteen-

year-old Phil; the Misses McLure trying to make their trembling

upper lips cover their buck teeth; Mrs. Elsing, erect as a Spartan

mother, betraying her inner turmoil only by the straggling gray

locks that hung from her chignon; and Fanny Elsing white as a

ghost. (Surely Fanny wouldn't be so worried about her brother

Hugh. Had she a real beau at the front that no one suspected?)

Mrs. Merriwether sat in her carriage patting Maybelle's hand.

Maybelle looked so very pregnant it was a disgrace for her to be

out in public, even if she did have her shawl carefully draped over

her. Why should she be so worried? Nobody had heard that the

Louisiana troops were in Pennsylvania. Probably her hairy little

Zouave was safe in Richmond this very minute.

There was a movement on the outskirts of the crowd and those on

foot gave way as Rhett Butler carefully edged his horse toward Aunt

Pitty's carriage. Scarlett thought: He's got courage, coming here

at this time when it wouldn't take anything to make this mob tear

him to pieces because he isn't in uniform. As he came nearer, she

thought she might be the first to rend him. How dared he sit there

on that fine horse, in shining boots and handsome white linen suit,

so sleek and well fed, smoking an expensive cigar, when Ashley and

all the other boys were fighting the Yankees, barefooted,

sweltering in the heat, hungry, their bellies rotten with disease?

Bitter looks were thrown at him as he came slowly through the

press. Old men growled in their beards, and Mrs. Merriwether who

feared nothing rose slightly in her carriage and said clearly:

"Speculator!" in a tone that made the word the foulest and most

Venomous of epithets. He paid no heed to anyone but raised his hat

to Melly and Aunt Pitty and, riding to Scarlett's side, leaned down

and whispered: "Don't you think this would be the time for Dr.

Meade to give us his familiar speech about victory perching like a

screaming eagle on our banners?"

Her nerves taut with suspense, she turned on him as swiftly as an

angry cat, hot words bubbling to her lips, but he stopped them with

a gesture.

"I came to tell you ladies," he said loudly, "that I have been to

headquarters and the first casualty lists are coming in."

At these words a hum rose among those near enough to hear his

remark, and the crowd surged, ready to turn and run down Whitehall

Street toward headquarters.

"Don't go," he called, rising in his saddle and holding up his

hand. "The lists have been sent to both newspapers and are now

being printed. Stay where you are!"

"Oh, Captain Butler," cried Melly, turning to him with tears in her

eyes. "How kind of you to come and tell us! When will they be

posted?"

"They should be out any minute, Madam. The reports have been in

the offices for half an hour now. The major in charge didn't want

to let that out until the printing was done, for fear the crowd

would wreck the offices trying to get news. Ah! Look!"

The side window of the newspaper office opened and a hand was

extended, bearing a sheaf of long narrow galley proofs, smeared

with fresh ink and thick with names closely printed. The crowd

fought for them, tearing the slips in half, those obtaining them

trying to back out through the crowd to read, those behind pushing

forward, crying: "Let me through!"

"Hold the reins," said Rhett shortly, swinging to the ground and

tossing the bridle to Uncle Peter. They saw his heavy shoulders

towering above the crowd as he went through, brutally pushing and

shoving. In a while he was back, with half a dozen in his hands.

He tossed one to Melanie and distributed the others among the

ladies in the nearest carriages, the Misses McLure, Mrs. Meade,

Mrs. Merriwether, Mrs. Elsing.

"Quick, Melly," cried Scarlett, her heart in her throat,

exasperation sweeping her as she saw that Melly's hands were

shaking so that it was impossible for her to read.

"Take it," whispered Melly, and Scarlett snatched it from her. The

Ws. Where were the Ws? Oh, there they were at the bottom and all

smeared up. "White," she read and her voice shook, "Wilkens . . .

Winn . . . Zebulon . . . Oh, Melly, he's not on it! He's not on