“I came to tell Melly—but I couldn’t。 You must do it And give her these。”
He hauled from his pockets a heavy gold watch with dangling seals； a small miniature of the long dead Mrs。 Wilkes and a pair of massive cuff buttons。 At the sight of the watch which she had seen in John Wilkes’ hands a thousand times； the full realization came over Scarlett that Ashley’s father was really dead。 And she was too stunned to cry or to speak。 Uncle Henry fidgeted； coughed and did not look at her； lest he catch sight of a tear that would upset him。
“He was a brave man； Scarlett。 Tell Melly that。 Tell her to write it to his girls。 And a good soldier for all his years。 A shell got him。 Came right down on him and his horse。 Tore the horse’s— I shot the horse myself； poor creature。 A fine little mare she was。 You’d better write Mrs。 Tarleton about that； too。 She set a store on that mare。 Wrap up my lunch； child。 I must be going。 There； dear； don’t take it so hard。 What better way can an old man die than doing a young man’s work？”
“Oh； he shouldn’t have died！ He shouldn’t have ever gone to the war。 He should have lived and seen his grandchild grow up and died peacefully in bed。 Oh； why did he go？ He didn’t believe in secession and he hated the war and—”
“Plenty of us think that way； but what of it？” Uncle Henry blew his nose grumpily。 “Do you think I enjoy letting Yankee riflemen use me for a target at my age？ But there’s no other choice for a gentleman these days。 Kiss me good…by； child； and don’t worry about me。 I’ll come through this war safely。”
Scarlett kissed him and heard him go down the steps into the dark； heard the latch click on the front gate。 She stood for a minute looking at the keepsakes in her hand。 And then she went up the stairs to tell Melanie。
At the end of July came the unwelcome news； predicted by Uncle Henry； that the Yankees had swung around again toward Jonesboro。 They had cut the railroad four miles below the town； but they had been beaten off by the Confederate cavalry； and the engineering corps； sweating in the broiling sun； had repaired the line。
Scarlett was frantic with anxiety。 For three days she waited； fear growing in her heart。 Then a reassuring letter came from Gerald。 The enemy had not reached Tara。 They had heard the sound of the fight but they had seen no Yankees。
Gerald’s letter was so full of brag and bluster as to how the Yankees had been driven from the railroad that one would have thought he personally had accomplished the feat； single handed。 He wrote for three pages about the gallantry of the troops and then； at the end of his letter； mentioned briefly that Carreen was ill。 The typhoid； Mrs。 O’Hara said it was。 She was not very ill and Scarlett was not to worry about her； but on no condition must she come home now； even if the railroad should become safe。 Mrs。 O’Hara was very glad now that Scarlett and Wade had not come home when the siege began。 Mrs。 O’Hara said Scarlett must go to church and say some Rosaries for Carreen’s recovery。
Scarlett’s conscience smote her at this last； for it had been months since she had been to church。 Once she would have thought this omission a mortal sin but； somehow； staying away from church did not seem so sinful now as it formerly had。 But she obeyed her mother and going to her room gabbled a hasty Rosary。 When she rose from her knees she did not feel as comforted as she had formerly felt after prayer。 For some time she had felt that God was not watching out for her； the Confederates or the South； in spite of the millions of prayers ascending to Him daily。
That night she sat on the front porch with Gerald’s letter in her bosom where she could touch it occasionally and bring Tara and Ellen closer to her。 The lamp in the parlor window threw odd golden shadows onto the dark vine…shrouded porch； and the matted tangle of yellow climbing roses and honeysuckle made a wall of mingled fragrance about her。 The night was utterly still。 Not even the crack of a rifle had sounded since sunset and the world seemed far away。 Scarlett rocked back and forth； lonely； miserable since reading the news from Tara； wishing that someone； anyone； even Mrs。 Merriwether； were with her。 But Mrs。 Merriwether was on night duty at the hospital； Mrs。 Meade was at home making a feast for Phil； who was in from the front lines； and Melanie was asleep。 There was not even the hope of a chance caller。 Visitors had fallen off to nothing this last week； for every man who could walk was in the rifle pits or chasing the Yankees about the countryside near Jonesboro。
It was not often that she was alone like this and she did not like it。 When she was alone she had to think and； these days； thoughts were not so pleasant。 Like everyone else； she had fallen into the habit of thinking of the past； the dead。
Tonight when Atlanta was so quiet； she could close her eyes and imagine she was back in the rural stillness of Tara and that life was unchanged； unchanging。 But she knew that life in the County would never be the same again。 She thought of the four Tarletons； the red…haired twins and Tom and Boyd； and a passionate sadness caught at her throat。 Why； either Stu or Brent might have been her husband。 But now； when the war was over and she went back to Tara to live； she would never again hear their wild halloos as they dashed up the avenue of cedars。 And Raiford Calvert； who danced so divinely； would never again choose her to be his partner。 And the Munroe boys and little Joe Fontaine and—
“Oh； Ashley！” she sobbed； dropping her head into her hands。 “I’ll never get used to you being gone！”
She heard the front gate click and she hastily raised her head and dashed her hand across her wet eyes。 She rose and saw it was Rhett Butler coming up the walk； carrying his wide Panama hat in his hand。 She had not seen him since the day when she had alighted from his carriage so precipitously at Five Points。 On that occasion； she had expressed the desire never to lay eyes on him again。 But she was so glad now to have someone to talk to； someone to divert her thoughts from Ashley； that she hastily put the memory from her mind。 Evidently he had forgotten the contretemps； or pretended to have forgotten it； for he settled himself on the top step at her feet without mention of their late difference。
“So you didn’t refugee to Macon！ I heard that Miss Pitty had retreated and； of course； I thought you had gone too。 So； when I saw your light I came here to investigate。 Why did you stay？”
“To keep Melanie company。 You see； she—well； she can’t refugee just now。”
“Thunderation；” he said； and in the lamplight she saw that he was frowning。 “You don’t mean to tell me Mrs。 Wilkes is still here？ I never heard of such idiocy。 It’s quite dangerous for her in her condition。”
Scarlett was silent； embarrassed； for Melanie’s condition was not a subject she could discuss with a man。 She was embarrassed； too； that Rhett should know it was dangerous for Melanie。 Such knowledge sat ill upon a bachelor。
“It’s quite ungallant of you not to think that I might get hurt too；” she said tartly。
His eyes flickered with amusement。
“I’d back you against the Yankees any day。”
“I’m not sure that that’s a compliment；” she said uncertainly。
“It isn’t；” he answered。 “When will you stop looking for compliments in men’s lightest utterances？”
“When I’m on my deathbed；” she replied and smiled； thinking that there would always be men to compliment her； even if Rhett never did。
“Vanity； vanity；” he said。 “At least； you are frank about it。”
He opened his cigar case； extracted a black cigar and held it to his nose for a moment。 A match flared； he leaned back against a post and； clasping his hands about his knees； smoked a while in silence。 Scarlett resumed her rocking and the still darkness of the warm night closed about them。 The mockingbird； which nested in the tangle of roses and honeysuckle； roused from slumber and gave one timid； liquid note。 Then； as if thinking better of the matter； it was silent again。
From the shadow of the porch； Rhett suddenly laughed； a low； soft laugh。
“So you stayed with Mrs。 Wilkes！ This is the strangest situation I ever encountered！”
“I see nothing strange about it；” she answered uncomfortably； immediately on the alert。
“No？ But then you lack the impersonal viewpoint My impression has been for some time past that you could hardly endure Mrs。 Wilkes。 You think her silly and stupid and her patriotic notions bore you。 You seldom pass by the opportunity to slip in some belittling remark about her； so naturally it seems strange to me that you should elect to do the unselfish thing and stay here with her during this shelling。 Now； just why did you do it？”
“Because she’s Charlie’s sister—and like a sister to me；” answered Scarlett with as much dignity as possible though her cheeks were growing hot。
“You mean because she’s Ashley’s Wilkes’ widow。”
Scarlett rose quickly； struggling with her anger。
“I was almost on the point of forgiving you for your former boorish conduct but now I shan’t do it。 I wouldn’t have ever let you come upon this porch at all； if I hadn’t been feeling so blue and—”
“Sit down and smooth your ruffled fur；” he said； and his voice changed。 He reached up and taking her hand pulled her back into her chair。 “Why are you blue？”
“Oh； I had a letter from Tara today。 The Yankees are close to home and my little sister is ill with typhoid and—and—so now； even if I could go home； like I want to； Mother wouldn’t let me for fear I’d catch it too。 Oh； dear； and I do so want to go home！”
“Well； don’t cry about it；” he said； but his voice was kinder。 “You are much safer here in Atlanta even if the Yankees do come than you’d be at Tara。 The Yankees won’t hurt you and typhoid would。”
“The Yankees wouldn’t hurt me！ How can you say such a lie？”
“My dear girl； the Yankees aren’t fiends。 They haven’t horns and hoofs； as you seem to think。 They are pretty much like Southerners—except with worse manners； of course； and terrible accents。”
“Why； the Yankees would—”
“Rape you？ I think not。 Though； of course； they’d want to。”