THAT NIGHT AT SUPPER, Scarlett went through the motions of presiding over the table in hermother’s absence, but her mind was in a ferment over the dreadful news she had heard aboutAshley and Melanie. Desperately she longed for her mother’s return from the Slatterys’, for,without her, she felt lost and alone. What right had the Slatterys and their everlasting sickness totake Ellen away from home just at this time when she, Scarlett, needed her so much?

　　Throughout the dismal meal, Gerald’s booming voice battered against her ears until she thoughtshe could endure it no longer. He had forgotten completely about his conversation with her thatafternoon and was carrying on a monologue about the latest news from Fort Sumter, which hepunctuated by hammering his fist on the table and waving his arms in the air. Gerald made a habitof dominating the conversation at mealtimes, and usually Scarlett, occupied with her ownthoughts, scarcely heard him; but tonight she could not shut out his voice, no matter how much shestrained to listen for the sound of carriage wheels that would herald Ellen’s return.

　　Of course, she did not intend to tell her mother what was so heavy on her heart, for Ellen wouldbe shocked and grieved to know that a daughter of hers wanted a man who was engaged to anothergirl. But, in the depths of the first tragedy she had ever known, she wanted the very comfort of hermother’s presence. She always felt secure when Ellen was by her, for there was nothing so bad thatEllen could not better it, simply by being there.

　　She rose suddenly from her chair at the sound of creaking wheels in the driveway and then sankdown again as they went on around the house to the back yard. It could not be Ellen, for she would alight at the front steps. Then there was an excited babble of negro voices in the darkness of theyard and high-pitched negro laughter. Looking out the window, Scarlett saw Pork, who had left theroom a moment before, holding high a flaring pine knot, while indistinguishable figures descendedfrom a wagon. The laughter and talking rose and fell in the dark night air, pleasant, homely,carefree sounds, gutturally soft, musically shrill. Then feet shuffled up the back-porch stairs andinto the passageway leading to the main house, stopping in the hall just outside the dining room.

　　There was a brief interval of whispering, and Pork entered, his usual dignity gone, his eyes rollingand his teeth a-gleam.

　　“Mist’ Gerald,” he announced, breathing hard, the pride of a bridegroom all over his shiningface, “you’ new ‘oman done come.”

　　“New woman? I didn’t buy any new woman,” declared Gerald, pretending to glare.

　　“Yassah, you did, Mist’ Gerald! Yassah! An’ she out hyah now wanting ter speak wid you,”

　　answered Pork, giggling and twisting his hands in excitement.

　　“Well, bring in the bride,” said Gerald, and Pork, turning, beckoned into the hall to his wife,newly arrived from the Wilkes plantation to become part of the household of Tara. She entered,and behind her, almost hidden by her voluminous calico skirts, came her twelve-year-old daughter,squirming against her mother’s legs.

　　Dilcey was tall and bore herself erectly. She might have been any age from thirty to sixty, sounlined was her immobile bronze face. Indian blood was plain in her features, overbalancing thenegroid characteristics. The red color of her skin, narrow high forehead, prominent cheek bones,and the hawk-bridged nose which flattened at the end above thick negro lips, all showed themixture of two races. She was self-possessed and walked with a dignity that surpassed evenMammy’s, for Mammy had acquired her dignity and Dilcey’s was in her blood.

　　When she spoke, her voice was not so slurred as most negroes’ and she chose her words morecarefully.

　　“Good evenin’, young Misses. Mist’ Gerald, I is sorry to ‘sturb you, but I wanted to come hereand thank you agin fo’ buyin’ me and my chile. Lots of gentlemens might a’ bought me but theywouldn’t a’ bought my Prissy, too, jes’ to keep me frum grievin’ and I thanks you. I’m gwine domy bes’ fo’ you and show you I ain’t forgettin’.”

　　“Hum—hurrump,” said Gerald, clearing his throat in embarrassment at being caught openly inan act of kindness.

　　Dilcey turned to Scarlett and something like a smile wrinkled the corners of her eyes. “MissScarlett, Poke done tole me how you ast Mist Gerald to buy me. And so I’m gwine give you myPrissy fo’ yo’ own maid.”

　　She reached behind her and jerked the little girl forward. She was a brown little creature, withskinny legs like a bird and a myriad of pigtails carefully wrapped with twine sticking stiffly outfrom her head. She had sharp, knowing eyes that missed nothing and a studiedly stupid look on herface.

　　“Thank you, Dilcey,” Scarlett replied, “but I’m afraid Mammy will have something to say about that. She’s been my maid ever since I was born.”

　　“Mammy getting ole,” said Dilcey, with a calmness that would have enraged Mammy. “She agood mammy, but you a young lady now and needs a good maid, and my Prissy been maidin’ fo’

　　Miss India fo’ a year now. She kin sew and fix hair good as a grown pusson.”

　　Prodded by her mother, Prissy bobbed a sudden curtsy and grinned at Scarlett, who could nothelp grinning back.

　　“A sharp little wench,” she thought, and said aloud: “Thank you, Dilcey, we’ll see about it whenMother comes home.”

　　“Thankee, Ma’m. I gives you a good night,” said Dilcey and, turning, left the room with herchild, Pork dancing attendance. The supper things cleared away, Gerald resumed his oration, butwith little satisfaction to himself and none at all to his audience. His thunderous predictions ofimmediate war and his rhetorical questions as to whether the South would stand for further insultsfrom the Yankees only produced faintly bored, “Yes, Papas” and “No, Pas.” Carreen, sitting on ahassock under the big lamp, was deep in the romance of a girl who had taken the veil after herlover’s death and, with silent tears of enjoyment oozing from her eyes, was pleasurably picturingherself in a white coif. Suellen, embroidering on what she gigglingly called her “hope chest,” waswondering if she could possibly detach Stuart Tarleton from her sister’s side at the barbecuetomorrow and fascinate him with the sweet womanly qualities which she possessed and Scarlettdid not. And Scarlett was in a tumult about Ashley.

　　How could Pa talk on and on about Fort Sumter and the Yankees when he knew her heart wasbreaking? As usual in the very young, she marveled that people could be so selfishly oblivious toher pain and the world rock along just the same, in spite of her heartbreak.

　　Her mind was as if a cyclone had gone through it, and it seemed strange that the dining roomwhere they sat should be so placid, so unchanged from what it had always been. The heavymahogany table and sideboards, the massive silver, the bright rag rugs on the shining floor were allin their accustomed places, just as if nothing had happened. It was a friendly and comfortable roomand, ordinarily, Scarlett loved the quiet hours which the family spent there after supper; but tonightshe hated the sight of it and, if she had not feared her father’s loudly bawled questions, she wouldhave slipped away, down the dark hall to Ellen’s little office and cried out her sorrow on the oldsofa.

　　That was the room that Scarlett liked the best in all the house. There, Ellen sat before her tallsecretary each morning, keeping the accounts of the plantation and listening to the reports of JonasWilkerson, the overseer. There also the family idled while Ellen’s quill scratched across herledgers, Gerald in the old rocker, the girls on the sagging cushions of the sofa that was too batteredand worn for the front of the house. Scarlett longed to be there now, alone with Ellen, so she couldput her head in her mother’s lap and cry in peace. Wouldn’t Mother ever come home?

　　Then, wheels ground sharply on the graveled driveway, and the soft murmur of Ellen’s voicedismissing the coachman floated into the room. The whole group looked up eagerly as she enteredrapidly, her hoops swaying, her face tired and sad. There entered with her the faint fragrance oflemon verbena sachet, which seemed always to creep from the folds of her dresses, a fragrance that was always linked in Scarlett’s mind with her mother. Mammy followed at a few paces, the leatherbag in her hand, her underlip pushed out and her brow lowering. Mammy muttered darkly toherself as she waddled, taking care that her remarks were pitched too low to be understood butloud enough to register her unqualified disapproval.

　　“I am sorry I am so late,” said Ellen, slipping her plaid shawl from drooping shoulders andhanding it to Scarlett, whose cheek she patted in passing.

　　Gerald’s face had brightened as if by magic at her entrance.

　　“Is the brat baptized?” he questioned.

　　“Yes, and dead, poor thing,” said Ellen. “I feared Emmie would die too, but I think she willlive.”

　　The girls’ faces turned to her, startled and questioning, and Gerald wagged his headphilosophically.

　　“Well, ‘tis better so that the brat is dead, no doubt, poor fatherle—”

　　“It is late. We had better have prayers now,” interrupted Ellen so smoothly that, if Scarlett hadnot known her mother well, the interruption would have passed unnoticed.

　　It would be interesting to know who was the father of Emmie Slattery’s baby, but Scarlett knewshe would never learn the truth of the matter if she waited to hear it from her mother. Scarlettsuspected Jonas Wilkerson, for she had frequently seen him walking down the road with Emmie atnightfall. Jonas was a Yankee and a bachelor, and the fact that he was an overseer forever barredhim from any contact with the County social life. There was no family of any standing into whichhe could marry, no people with whom he could associate except the Slatterys and riffraff like them.

　　As he was several cuts above the Slatterys in education, it was only natural that he should not wantto marry Emmie, no matter how often he might walk with her in the twilight.

　　Scarlett sighed, for her curiosity was sharp. Things were always happening under her mother’seyes which she noticed no more than if they had not happened at all. Ellen ignored all thingscontrary to her ideas of propriety and tried to teach Scarlett to do the same, but with poor success.

　　Ellen had stepped to the mantel to take her rosary beads from the small inlaid casket in whichthey always reposed when Mammy spoke up with firmness.

　　“Miss Ellen, you gwine eat some supper befo’ you does any prayin’.”

　　“Thank you. Mammy, but I am not hungry.”

　　“Ah gwine fix yo’ supper mahseff an’ you eats it,” said Mammy, her brow furrowed withindignation as she started down the hall for the kitchen. “Poke!” she called, “tell Cookie stir up defiah. Miss Ellen home.”

　　As the boards shuddered under her weight, the soliloquy she had been muttering in the front hallgrew louder and louder, coming clearly to the ears of the family in the dining room.

　　“Ah has said time an’ again, it doan do no good doin’ nuthin’ fer w’ite trash. Dey is deshiflesses, mos’ ungrateful passel of no-counts livin’. An’ Miss Ellen got no bizness weahin’

　　herseff out waitin’ on folks dat did dey be wuth shootin’ dey’d have niggers ter wait on dem. An’ Ah has said—”

　　Her voice trailed off as she went down the long open passageway, covered only by a roof, thatled into the kitchen. Mammy had her own method of letting her owners know exactly where shestood on all matters. She knew it was beneath the dignity of quality white folks to pay the slightestattention to what a darky said when she was just grumbling to herself. She knew that to uphold thisdignity, they must ignore what she said, even if she stood in the next room and almost shouted. Itprotected her from reproof, and it left no doubt in anyone’s mind as to her exact views on anysubject.

　　Pork entered the room, bearing a plate, silver and a napkin. He was followed closely by Jack, ablack little boy of ten, hastily buttoning a white linen jacket with one hand and bearing in the othera fly-swisher, made of thin strips of newspaper tied to a reed longer than he was. Ellen had abeautiful peacock-feather fly-brusher, but it was used only on very special occasions and then onlyafter domestic struggle, due to the obstinate conviction of Pork, Cookie and Mammy that peacockfeathers were bad luck.

　　Ellen sat down in the chair which Gerald pulled out for her and four voices attacked her.

　　“Mother, the lace is loose on my new ball dress and I want to wear it tomorrow night at TwelveOaks. Won’t you please fix it?”

　　“Mother, Scarlett’s new dress is prettier than mine and I look like a fright in pink. Why can’t shewear my pink and let me wear her green? She looks all right in pink.”

　　“Mother, can I stay up for the ball tomorrow night? I’m thirteen now—”

　　“Mrs. O’Hara, would you believe it— Hush, you girls, before I take me crop to you! CadeCalvert was in Atlanta this morning and he says—will you be quiet and let me be hearing me ownvoice?—and he says it’s all upset they are there and talking nothing but war, militia drilling, troopsforming. And he says the news from Charleston is that they will be putting up with no moreYankee insults.”

　　Ellen’s tired mouth smiled into the tumult as she addressed herself first to her husband, as a wifeshould.

　　“If the nice people of Charleston feel that way, I’m sure we will all feel the same way soon,” shesaid, for she had a deeply rooted belief that, excepting only Savannah, most of the gentle blood ofthe whole continent could be found in that small seaport city, a belief shared largely byCharlestonians.

　　“No, Carreen, next year, dear. Then you can stay up for balls and wear grown-up dresses, andwhat a good time my little pink cheeks will have! Don’t pout, dear. You can go to the barbecue,remember that, and stay up through supper, but no balls until you are fourteen.”

　　“Give me your gown, Scarlett, I will whip the lace for you after prayers.

　　“Suellen, I do not like your tone, dear. Your pink gown is lovely and suitable to yourcomplexion, Scarlett’s is to hers. But you may wear my garnet necklace tomorrow night.”

　　Suellen, behind her mother’s back, wrinkled her nose triumphantly at Scarlett who had beenplanning to beg the necklace for herself. Scarlett put out her tongue at her. Suellen was an annoying sister with her whining and selfishness, and had it not been for Ellen’s restraining hand,Scarlett would frequently have boxed her ears.

　　“Now, Mr. O’Hara, tell me more about what Mr. Calvert said about Charleston,” said Ellen.

　　Scarlett knew her mother cared nothing at all about war and politics and thought them masculinematters about which no lady could intelligently concern herself. But it gave Gerald pleasure to airhis views, and Ellen was unfailingly thoughtful of her husband’s pleasure.

　　While Gerald launched forth on his news. Mammy set the plates before her mistress, golden-topped biscuits, breast of fried chicken and a yellow yam open and steaming, with melted butterdripping from it. Mammy pinched small Jack, and he hastened to his business of slowly swishingthe paper ribbons back and forth behind Ellen. Mammy stood beside the table, watching everyforkful that traveled from plate to mouth, as though she intended to force the food down Ellen’sthroat should she see signs of flagging. Ellen ate diligently, but Scarlett could see that she was tootired to know what she was eating. Only Mammy’s implacable face forced her to it.

　　When the dish was empty and Gerald only midway in his remarks on the thievishness ofYankees who wanted to free darkies and yet offered no penny to pay for their freedom, Ellen rose.

　　“We’ll be having prayers?” he questioned, reluctantly.

　　“Yes. It is so late—why, it is actually ten o’clock,” as the clock with coughing and tinny thumpsmarked the hour. “Carreen should have been asleep long ago. The lamp, please. Pork, and myprayer book, Mammy.”

　　Prompted by Mammy’s hoarse whisper. Jack set his fly-brush in the corner and removed thedishes, while Mammy fumbled in the sideboard drawer for Ellen’s worn prayer book. Pork,tiptoeing, reached the ring in the chain and drew the lamp slowly down until the table top wasbrightly bathed in light and the ceiling receded into shadows. Ellen arranged her skirts and sank tothe floor on her knees, laying the open prayer book on the table before her and clasping her handsupon it Gerald knelt beside her, and Scarlett and Suellen took their accustomed places on theopposite side of the table, folding their voluminous petticoats in pads under their knees, so theywould ache less from contact with the hard floor. Carreen, who was small for her age, could notkneel comfortably at the table and so knelt facing a chair, her elbows on the seat. She liked thisposition, for she seldom failed to go to sleep during prayers and, in this posture, it escaped hermother’s notice.

　　The house servants shuffled and rustled in the hall to kneel by the doorway, Mammy groaningaloud as she sank down, Pork straight as a ramrod, Rosa and Teena, the maids, graceful in theirspreading bright calicoes, Cookie gaunt and yellow beneath her snowy head rag, and Jack, stupidwith sleep, as far away from Mammy’s pinching fingers as possible. Their dark eyes gleamedexpectantly, for praying with their white folks was one of the events of the day. The old andcolorful phrases of the litany with its Oriental imagery meant little to them but it satisfied somethingin their hearts, and they always swayed when they chanted the responses: “Lord, have mercyon us,” “Christ, have mercy on us.”

　　Ellen closed her eyes and began praying, her voice rising and falling, lulling and soothing.

　　Heads bowed in the circle of yellow light as Ellen thanked God for the health and happiness of her home, her family and her negroes.

　　When she had finished her prayers for those beneath the roof of Tara, her father, mother, sisters,three dead babies and “all the poor souls in Purgatory,” she clasped her white beads between longfingers and began the Rosary, like the rushing of a soft wind, the responses from black throats andwhite throats rolled back:

　　“Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now, and at the hour of our death.”

　　Despite her heartache and the pain of unshed tears, a deep sense of quiet and peace fell uponScarlett as it always did at this hour. Some of the disappointment of the day and the dread of themorrow departed from her, leaving a feeling of hope. It was not the lifting up of her heart to Godthat brought this balm, for religion went no more than lip deep with her. It was the sight of hermother’s serene face upturned to the throne of God and His saints and angels, praying for blessingson those whom she loved. When Ellen intervened with Heaven, Scarlett felt certain that Heavenheard.

　　Ellen finished and Gerald, who could never find his beads at prayer time, began furtivelycounting his decade on his fingers. As his voice droned on Scarlett’s thoughts strayed, in spite ofherself. She knew she should be examining her conscience. Ellen had taught her that at the end ofeach day it was her duty to examine her conscience thoroughly, to admit her numerous faults andpray to God for forgiveness and strength never to repeat them. But Scarlett was examining herheart.

　　She dropped her head upon her folded hands so that her mother could not see her face, and herthoughts went sadly back to Ashley. How could he be planning to marry Melanie when he reallyloved her, Scarlett? And when he knew how much she loved him? How could he deliberately breakher heart?

　　Then, suddenly, an idea, shining and new, flashed like a comet through her brain.

　　“Why, Ashley hasn’t an idea that I’m in love with him!”

　　She almost gasped aloud in the shock of its unexpectedness. Her mind stood still as if paralyzedfor a long, breathless instant, and then raced forward.

　　“How could he know? I’ve always acted so prissy and ladylike and touch-me-not around him heprobably thinks I don’t care a thing about him except as a friend. Yes, that’s why he’s neverspoken! He thinks his love is hopeless. And that’s why he’s looked so—”

　　Her mind went swiftly back to those times when she had caught him looking at her in thatstrange manner, when the gray eyes that were such perfect curtains for his thoughts had been wideand naked and had in them a look of torment and despair.

　　“He’s been broken hearted because he thinks I’m in love with Brent or Stuart or Cade. Andprobably he thinks that if he can’t have me, he might as well please his family and marry Melanie.

　　But if he knew I did love him—”

　　Her volatile spirits shot up from deepest depression to excited happiness. This was the answer toAshley’s reticence, to his strange conduct. He didn’t know! Her vanity leaped to the aid of herdesire to believe, making belief a certainty. If he knew she loved him, he would hasten to her side.

　　She had only to—“Oh!” she thought rapturously, digging her fingers into her lowered brow. “What a fool I’vebeen not to think of this till now! I must think of some way to let him know. He wouldn’t marryher if he knew I loved him! How could he?”

　　With a start, she realized that Gerald had finished and her mother’s eyes were on her. Hastily shebegan her decade, telling off the beads automatically but with a depth of emotion in her voice thatcaused Mammy to open her eyes and shoot a searching glance at her. As she finished her prayersand Suellen, then Carreen, began their decades, her mind was still speeding onward with herentrancing new thought.

　　Even now, it wasn’t too late! Too often the County had been scandalized by elopements whenone or the other of the participating parties was practically at the altar with a third. And Ashley’sengagement had not even been announced yet! Yes, there was plenty of time!

　　If no love lay between Ashley and Melanie but only a promise given long ago, then why wasn’tit possible for him to break that promise and marry her? Surely he would do it, if he knew that she,Scarlett loved him. She must find some way to let him know. She would find some way! And then—Scarlett came abruptly out of her dream of delight, for she had neglected to make the responsesand her mother was looking at her reprovingly. As she resumed the ritual, she opened her eyesbriefly and cast a quick glance around the room. The kneeling figures, the soft glow of the lamp,the dim shadows where the negroes swayed, even the familiar objects that had been so hateful toher sight an hour ago, in an instant took on the color of her own emotions, and the room seemedonce more a lovely place. She would never forget this moment or this scene!

　　“Virgin most faithful,” her mother intoned. The Litany of the Virgin was beginning, andobediently Scarlett responded: “Pray for us,” as Ellen praised in soft contralto the attributes of theMother of God.

　　As always since childhood, this was, for Scarlett, a moment for adoration of Ellen, rather thanthe Virgin. Sacrilegious though it might be, Scarlett always saw, through her closed eyes, theupturned face of Ellen and not the Blessed Virgin, as the ancient phrases were repeated. “Health ofthe Sick,” “Seat of Wisdom,” “Refuge of Sinners,” “Mystical Rose”—they were beautiful becausethey were the attributes of Ellen. But tonight became of the exaltation of her own spirit, Scarlettfound in the whole ceremonial, the softly spoken words, the murmur of the responses, a surpassingbeauty beyond any that she had ever experienced before. And her heart went up to God in sincerethankfulness that a pathway for her feet had been opened—out of her misery and straight to thearms of Ashley.

　　When the last “Amen” sounded, they all rose, somewhat stiffly, Mammy being hauled to her feetby the combined efforts of Teena and Rosa. Pork took a long spiller from the mantelpiece, lit itfrom the lamp flame and went into the hall. Opposite the winding stair stood a walnut sideboard,too large for use in the dining room, bearing on its wide top several lamps and a long row ofcandles in candlesticks. Pork lit one lamp and three candles and, with the pompous dignity of afirst chamberlain of the royal bedchamber lighting a king and queen to their rooms, he led the procession up the stairs, holding the light high above his head. Ellen, on Gerald’s arm, followedhim, and the girls, each taking her own candlestick, mounted after them.

　　Scarlett entered her room, set the candle on the tall chest of drawers and fumbled in the darkcloset for the dancing dress that needed stitching. Throwing it across her arm, she crossed the hallquietly. The door of her parents’ bedroom was slightly ajar and, before she could knock, Ellen’svoice, low but stern, came to her ears.

　　“Mr. O’Hara, you must dismiss Jonas Wilkerson.”

　　Gerald exploded, “And where will I be getting another overseer who wouldn’t be cheating meout of my eye-teeth?”

　　“He must be dismissed, immediately, tomorrow morning. Big Sam is a good foreman and he cantake over the duties until you can hire another overseer.”

　　“Ah, ha!” came Gerald’s voice. “So, I understand! Then the worthy Jonas sired the—”

　　“He must be dismissed.”

　　“So, he is the father of Emmie Slattery’s baby,” thought Scarlett “Oh, well. What else can youexpect from a Yankee man and a white-trash girl?”

　　Then, after a discreet pause which gave Gerald’s splutterings time to die away, she knocked onthe door and handed the dress to her mother.

　　By the time Scarlett had undressed and blown out the candle, her plan for tomorrow had workeditself out in every detail. It was a simple plan, for, with Gerald’s single-mindedness of purpose, hereyes were centered on the goal and she thought only of the most direct steps by which to reach it.

　　First, she would be “prideful,” as Gerald had commanded. From the moment she arrived atTwelve Oaks, she would be her gayest, most spirited self. No one would suspect that she had everbeen downhearted because of Ashley and Melanie. And she would flirt with every man there. Thatwould be cruel to Ashley, but it would make him yearn for her all the more. She wouldn’t overlooka man of marriageable age, from ginger-whiskered old Frank Kennedy, who was Suellen’s beau,on down to shy, quiet, blushing Charles Hamilton, Melanie’s brother. They would swarm aroundher like bees around a hive, and certainly Ashley would be drawn from Melanie to join the circle ofher admirers. Then somehow she would maneuver to get a few minutes alone with him, away fromthe crowd. She hoped everything would work out that way, because it would be more difficultotherwise. But if Ashley didn’t make the first move, she would simply have to do it herself.

　　When they were finally alone, he would have fresh in his mind the picture of the other menthronging about her, he would be newly impressed with the fact that every one of them wanted her,and that look of sadness and despair would be in his eyes. Then she would make him happy againby letting him discover that popular though she was, she preferred him above any other man in allthe world. And when she admitted it, modestly and sweetly, she would look a thousand thingsmore. Of course, she would do it all in a ladylike way. She wouldn’t even dream of saying to himboldly that she loved him—that would never do. But the manner of telling him was a detail thattroubled her not at all. She had managed such situations before and she could do it again.

　　Lying in the bed with the moonlight streaming dimly over her, she pictured the whole scene in her mind. She saw the look of surprise and happiness that would come over his face when herealized that she really loved him, and she heard the words he would say asking her to be his wife.

　　Naturally, she would have to say then that she simply couldn’t think of marrying a man when hewas engaged to another girl, but he would insist and finally she would let herself be persuaded.

　　Then they would decide to run off to Jonesboro that very afternoon and—Why, by this time tomorrow night, she might be Mrs. Ashley Wilkes!

　　She sat up in bed, hugging her knees, and for a long happy moment she was Mrs. Ashley Wilkes—Ashley’s bride! Then a slight chill entered her heart. Suppose it didn’t work out this way?

　　Suppose Ashley didn’t beg her to run away with him? Resolutely she pushed the thought from hermind.

　　“I won’t think of that now,” she said firmly. “If I think of it now, it will upset me. There’s noreason why things won’t come out the way I want them—if he loves me. And I know he does!”

　　She raised her chin and her pale, black-fringed eyes sparkled in the moonlight. Ellen had nevertold her that desire and attainment were two different matters; life had not taught her that the racewas not to the swift. She lay in the silvery shadows with courage rising and made the plans that asixteen-year-old makes when life has been so pleasant that defeat is an impossibility and a prettydress and a clear complexion are weapons to vanquish fate.