THERE WOULD NEVER AGAIN BE an afternoon as long as this one. Or as hot. Or as full oflazy insolent flies. They swarmed on Melanie despite the fan Scarlett kept in constant motion. Herarms ached from swinging the wide palmetto leaf. All her efforts seemed futile, for while shebrushed them from Melanie’s moist face, they crawled on her clammy feet and legs and made herjerk them weakly and cry: “Please! On my feet!”

　　The room was in semigloom, for Scarlett had pulled down the shades to shut out the heat andbrightness. Pin points of sunlight came in through minute holes in the shades and about the edges.

　　The room was an oven and Scarlett’s sweat-drenched clothes never dried but became wetter andstickier as the hours went by. Prissy was crouched in a corner, sweating too, and smelled so abominablyScarlett would have sent her from the room had she not feared the girl would take to herheels if once out of sight Melanie lay on the bed on a sheet dark with perspiration and splotchedwith dampness where Scarlett had spilled water. She twisted endlessly, to one side, to the other, toleft, to right and back again.

　　Sometimes she tried to sit up and fell back and began twisting again. At first, she had tried tokeep from crying out, biting her lips until they were raw, and Scarlett, whose nerves were as raw asthe lips, said huskily: “Melly, for God’s sake, don’t try to be brave. Yell if you want to. There’snobody to hear you but us.”

　　As the afternoon wore on, Melanie moaned whether she wanted to be brave or not, andsometimes she screamed. When she did, Scarlett dropped her head into her hands and covered herears and twisted her body and wished that she herself were dead. Anything was preferable to beinga helpless witness to such pain. Anything was better than being tied here waiting for a baby thattook such a long time coming. Waiting, when for all she knew the Yankees were actually at FivePoints.

　　She fervently wished she had paid more attention to the whispered conversations of matrons onthe subject of childbirth. If only she had! If only she had been more interested in such mattersshe’d know whether Melanie was taking a long time or not. She had a vague memory of one ofAunt Pitty’s stories of a friend who was in labor for two days and died without ever having thebaby. Suppose Melanie should go on like this for two days! But Melanie was so delicate. Shecouldn’t stand two days of this pain. She’d die soon if the baby didn’t hurry. And how could sheever face Ashley, if he were still alive, and tell him that Melanie had died—after she had promisedto take care of her?

　　At first, Melanie wanted to hold Scarlett’s hand when the pain was bad but she clamped downon it so hard she nearly broke the bones. After an hour of this, Scarlett’s hands were so swollen andbruised she could hardly flex them. She knotted two long towels together and tied them to the footof the bed and put the knotted end in Melanie’s hands. Melanie hung onto it as though it were a lifeline, straining, pulling it taut, slackening it, tearing it. Throughout the afternoon, her voice went onlike an animal dying in a trap. Occasionally she dropped the towel and rubbed her hands feeblyand looked up at Scarlett with eyes enormous with pain.

　　“Talk to me. Please talk to me,” she whispered and Scarlett would gabble something untilMelanie again gripped the knot and again began writhing.

　　The dim room swam with heat and pain and droning flies, and time went by on such draggingfeet Scarlett could scarcely remember the morning. She felt as if she had been in this steaming,dark, sweating place all her life. She wanted very much to scream every time Melanie did, andonly by biting her lips so hard it infuriated her could she restrain herself and drive off hysteria.

　　Once Wade came tiptoeing up the stairs and stood outside the door, wailing.

　　“Wade hungwy!” Scarlett started to go to him, but Melanie whispered: “Don’t leave me. Please.

　　I can stand it when you’re here.”

　　So Scarlett sent Prissy down to warm up the breakfast hominy and feed him. For herself, she feltthat she could never eat again after this afternoon.

　　The clock on the mantel had stopped and she had no way of telling the time but as the heat in theroom lessened and the bright pin points of light grew duller, she pulled the shade aside. She saw toher surprise that it was late afternoon and the sun, a ball of crimson, was far down the sky.

　　Somehow, she had imagined it would remain broiling hot noon forever.

　　She wondered passionately what was going on downtown. Had all the troops moved out yet?

　　Had the Yankees come? Would the Confederates march away without even a fight? Then sheremembered with a sick dropping in her stomach how few Confederates there were and how manymen Sherman had and how well fed they were. Sherman! The name of Satan himself did not frightened her half so much. But there was no time for thinking now, as Melanie called for water,for a cold towel on her head, to be fanned, to have the flies brushed away from her face.

　　When twilight came on and Prissy, scurrying like a black wraith, lit a lamp, Melanie becameweaker. She began calling for Ashley, over and over, as if in a delirium until the hideous monotonygave Scarlett a fierce desire to smother her voice with a pillow. Perhaps the doctor would comeafter all. If he would only come quickly! Hope raising its head, she turned to Prissy, and orderedher to run quickly to the Meades’ house and see if he were there or Mrs. Meade.

　　“And if he’s not there, ask Mrs. Meade or Cookie what to do. Beg them to come!”

　　Prissy was off with a clatter and Scarlett watched her hurrying down the street, going faster thanshe had ever dreamed the worthless child could move. After a prolonged time she was back, alone.

　　“De doctah ain’ been home all day. Sont wud he mout go off wid de sojers. Miss Scarlett, Mist’

　　Phil’s ‘ceased.”

　　“Dead?”

　　“Yas’m,” said Prissy, expanding with importance. Talbot, dey coachman, tole me. He wuz shot—”

　　“Never mind that.”

　　“Ah din’ see Miss Meade. Cookie say Miss Meade she washin’ him an’ fixin ter buhy him fo’ deYankees gits hyah. Cookie say effen de pain get too bad, jes’ you put a knife unner Miss Melly’sbed an’ it cut de pain in two.”

　　Scarlett wanted to slap her again for this helpful information but Melanie opened wide, dilatedeyes and whispered: “Dear—are the Yankees coming?”

　　“No,” said Scarlett stoutly. “Prissy’s a liar.”

　　“Yas’m, Ah sho is,” Prissy agreed fervently.

　　“They’re coming,” whispered Melanie undeceived and buried her face in the pillow. Her voicecame out muffled.

　　“My poor baby. My poor baby.” And, after a long interval: “Oh, Scarlett, you mustn’t stay here.

　　You must go and take Wade.”

　　What Melanie said was no more than Scarlett had been thinking but hearing it put into wordsinfuriated her, shamed her as if her secret cowardice was written plainly in her face.

　　“Don’t be a goose. I’m not afraid. You know I won’t leave you.”

　　“You might as well. I’m going to die.” And she began moaning again.

　　Scarlett came down the dark stairs slowly, like an old woman, feeling her way, cling............