THE BRIGHT GLARE of morning sunlight streaming through the trees overhead awakenedScarlett. For a moment, stiffened by the cramped position in which she had slept, she could notremember where she was. The sun blinded her, the hard boards of the wagon under her were harshagainst her body, and a heavy weight lay across her legs. She tried to sit up and discovered that theweight was Wade who lay sleeping with his head pillowed on her knees. Melanie’s bare feet werealmost in her face and, under the wagon seat, Prissy was curled up like a black cat with the smallbaby wedged in between her and Wade.

　　Then she remembered everything. She popped up to a sitting position and looked hastily allaround. Thank God, no Yankees in sight! Their hiding place had not been discovered in the night.

　　It all came back to her now, the nightmare journey after Rhett’s footsteps died away, the endlessnight, the black road full of ruts and boulders along which they jolted, the deep gullies on eitherside into which the wagon slipped, the fear-crazed strength with which she and Prissy had pushedthe wheels out of the gullies. She recalled with a shudder how often she had driven the unwillinghorse into fields and woods when she heard soldiers approaching, not knowing if they were friendsor foes—recalled, too, her anguish lest a cough, a sneeze or Wade’s hiccoughing might betray themto the marching men.

　　Oh, that dark road where men went by like ghosts, voices stilled, only the muffled tramping offeet on soft dirt, the faint clicking of bridles and the straining creak of leather! And, oh, thatdreadful moment when the sick horse balked and cavalry and light cannon rumbled past in thedarkness, past where they sat breathless, so close she could almost reach out and touch them, soclose she could smell the stale sweat on the soldiers’ bodies!

　　When, at last, they had neared Rough and Ready, a few camp fires were gleaming where the lastof Steve Lee’s rear guard was awaiting orders to fall back. She had circled through a plowed fieldfor a mile until the light of the fires died out behind her. And then she had lost her way in thedarkness and sobbed when she could not find the little wagon path she knew so well. Then finallyhaving found it, the horse sank in the traces and refused to move, refused to rise even when sheand Prissy tugged at the bridle.

　　So she had unharnessed him and crawled, sodden with fatigue, into the back of the wagon and stretched her aching legs. She had a faint memory of Melanie’s voice before sleep clamped downher eyelids, a weak voice that apologized even as it begged: “Scarlett, can I have some water,please?”

　　She had said: “There isn’t any,” and gone to sleep before the words were out of her mouth.

　　Now it was morning and the world was still and serene and green and gold with dappledsunshine. And no soldiers in sight anywhere. She was hungry and dry with thirst, aching andcramped and filled with wonder that she, Scarlett O’Hara, who could never rest well exceptbetween linen sheets and on the softest of feather beds, had slept like a field hand on hard planks.

　　Blinking in the sunlight, her eyes fell on Melanie and she gasped, horrified. Melanie lay so stilland white Scarlett thought she must be dead. She looked dead. She looked like a dead, old womanwith her ravaged face and her dark hair snarled and tangled across it. Then Scarlett saw with reliefthe faint rise and fall of her shallow breathing and knew that Melanie had survived the night.

　　Scarlett shaded her eyes with her hand and looked about her. They had evidently spent the nightunder the trees in someone’s front yard, for a sand and gravel driveway stretched out before her,winding away under an avenue of cedars.

　　“Why, it’s the Mallory place!” she thought, her heart leaping with gladness at the thought offriends and help.

　　But a stillness as of death hung over the plantation. The shrubs and grass of the lawn were cut topieces where hooves and wheels and feet had torn frantically back and forth until the soil waschurned up. She looked toward the house and instead of the old white clapboard place she knew sowell, she saw there only a long rectangle of blackened granite foundation stones and two tallchimneys rearing smoke-stained bricks into the charred leaves of still trees.

　　She drew a deep shuddering breath. Would she find Tara like this, level with the ground, silentas the dead?

　　“I mustn’t think about that now,” she told herself hurriedly. “I mustn’t let myself think about it.

　　I’ll get scared again if I think about it.” But, in spite of herself, her heart quickened and each beatseemed to thunder: “Home! Hurry! Home! Hurry!”

　　They must be starting on toward home again. But first they must find some food and water,especially water. She prodded Prissy awake. Prissy rolled her eyes as she looked about her.

　　“Fo’ Gawd, Miss Scarlett, Ah din’ spec ter wake up agin ‘cept in de Promise Lan’.”

　　“You’re a long way from there,” said Scarlett, trying to smooth back her untidy hair. Her facewas damp and her body was already wet with sweat. She felt dirty and messy and sticky, almost asif she smelled bad. Her clothes were crushed and wrinkled from sleeping in them and she hadnever felt more acutely tired and sore in all her life. Muscles she did not know she possessed achedfrom her unaccustomed exertions of the night before and every movement brought sharp pain.

　　She looked down at Melanie and saw that her dark eyes were opened. They were sick eyes,fever bright, and dark baggy circles were beneath them. She opened cracking lips and whisperedappealingly: “Water.”

　　“Get up, Prissy,” ordered Scarlett. “We’ll go to the well and get some water.”

　　“But, Miss Scarlett! Dey mout be hants up dar. Sposin’ somebody daid up dar?”

　　“I’ll make a hant out of you if you don’t get out of this wagon,” said Scarlett, who was in nomood for argument, as she climbed lamely down to the ground.

　　And then she thought of the horse. Name of God! Suppose the horse had died in the night! Hehad seemed ready to die when she unharnessed him. She ran around the wagon and saw him lyingon his side. If he were dead, she would curse God and die too. Somebody in the Bible had donejust that thing. Cursed God and died. She knew just how that person felt. But the horse was alive—breathing heavily, sick eyes half closed, but alive. Well, some water would help him too.

　　Prissy climbed reluctantly from the wagon with many groans and timorously followed Scarlettup the avenue. Behind the ruins the row of whitewashed slave quarters stood silent and desertedunder the overhanging trees. Between the quarters and the smoked stone foundations, they foundthe well, and the roof of it still stood with the bucket far down the well. Between them, they woundup the rope, and when the bucket of cool sparkling water appeared out of the dark depths, Scarletttilted it to her lips and drank with loud sucking noises, spilling the water all over herself.

　　She drank until Prissy’s petulant: “Well, Ah’s thusty, too, Miss Scarlett,” made her recall theneeds of the others.

　　“Untie the knot and take the bucket to the wagon and give them some. And give the rest to thehorse. Don’t you think Miss Melanie ought to nurse the baby? He’ll starve.”

　　“Law, Miss Scarlett, Miss Melly ain’ got no milk—ain’ gwine have none.”

　　“How do you know?”

　　“Ah’s seed too many lak her.”

　　“Don’t go putting on any airs with me. A precious little you knew about babies yesterday. Hurrynow. I’m going to try to find something to eat.”

　　Scarlett’s search was futile until in the orchard she found a few apples. Soldiers had been therebefore her and there was none on the trees. Those she found on the ground were mostly rotten. Shefilled her skirt with the best of them and came back across the soft earth, collecting small pebblesin her slippers. Why hadn’t she thought of putting on stouter shoes last night? Why hadn’t shebrought her sun hat? Why hadn’t she brought something to eat? She’d acted like a fool. But, ofcourse, she’d thought Rhett would take care of them.

　　Rhett! She spat on the ground, for the very name tasted bad. How she hated him! Howcontemptible he had been! And she had stood there in the road and let him kiss her—and almostliked it. She had been crazy last night. How despicable he was!

　　When she came back, she divided up the apples and threw the rest into the back of the wagon.

　　The horse was on his feet now but the water did not seem to have refreshed him much. He lookedfar worse in the daylight than he had the night before. His hip bones stood out like an old cow’s,his ribs showed like a washboard and his back was a mass of sores. She shrank from touching himas she harnessed him. When she slipped the bit into his mouth, she saw that he was practicallytoothless. As old as the hills! While Rhett was stealing a horse, why couldn’t he have stolen a goodone?

　　She mounted the seat and brought down the hickory limb on his back. He wheezed and started,but he walked so slowly as she turned him into the road she knew she could walk faster herselfwith no effort whatever. Oh, if only she didn’t have Melanie and Wade and the baby and Prissy tobother with! How swiftly she could walk home! Why, she would run home, run every step of theway that would bring her closer to Tara and to Mother.

　　They couldn’t be more than fifteen miles from home, but at the rate this old nag traveled itwould take all day, for she would have to stop frequently to rest him. All day! She looked down theglaring red road, cut in deep ruts where cannon wheels and ambulances had gone over it. It wouldbe hours before she knew if Tara still stood and if Ellen were there. It would be hours before shefinished her journey under the broiling September sun.

　　She looked back at Melanie who lay with sick eyes closed against the sun and jerked loose thestrings of her bonnet and tossed it to Prissy.

　　“Put that over her face. It’ll keep the sun out of her eyes.” Then as the heat beat down upon herunprotected head, she thought: “I’ll be as freckled as a guinea egg before this day is over.”

　　She had never in her life been out in the sunshine without a hat or veils, never handled reinswithout gloves to protect the white skin of her dimpled hands. Yet here she was exposed to the sunin a broken-down wagon with a broken-down horse, dirty, sweaty, hungry, helpless to do anythingbut plod along at a snail’s pace through a deserted land. What a few short weeks it had been sinceshe was safe and secure! What a little while since she and everyone else had thought that Atlantacould never fall, that Georgia could never be invaded. But the small cloud which appeared in thenorthwest four months ago had blown up into a mighty storm and men into a screaming tornado,sweeping away her world, whirling her out of her sheltered life, and dropping her down in themidst of this still, haunted desolation.

　　Was Tara still standing? Or was Tara also gone with the wind which had swept through Georgia?

　　She laid the whip on the tired horse’s back and tried to urge him on while the waggling wheelsrocked them drunkenly from side to side.

　　.

　　There was death in the air. In the rays of the late afternoon sun, every well-remembered fieldand forest grove was green and still, with an unearthly quiet that struck terror to Scarlett’s heart.

　　Every empty, shell-pitted house they had passed that day, every gaunt chimney standing sentinelover smoke-blackened ruins, had frightened her more. They had not seen a living human being oranimal since the night before. Dead men and dead horses, yes, and dead mules, lying by the road,swollen, covered with flies, but nothing alive. No far-off cattle lowed, no birds sang, no windwaved the trees. Only the tired plop-plop of the horse’s feet and the weak wailing of Melanie’sbaby broke the stillness.

　　The countryside lay as under some dread enchantment Or worse still, thought Scarlett with achill, like the familiar and dear face of a mother, beautiful and quiet at last, after death agonies. Shefelt that the once-familiar woods were full of ghosts. Thousands had died in the fighting nearJonesboro. They were here in these haunted woods where the slanting afternoon sun gleamedeerily through unmoving leaves, friends and foes, peering at her in her rickety wagon, through eyes blinded with blood and red dust—glazed, horrible eyes.

　　“Mother! Mother!” she whispered. If she could only win to Ellen! If only, by a miracle of God,Tara were still standing and she could drive up the long avenue of trees and go into the house andsee her mother’s kind, tender face, could feel once more the soft capable hands that drove out fear,could clutch Ellen’s skirts and bury her face in them. Mother would know what to do. Shewouldn’t let Melanie and her baby die. She would drive away all ghosts and fears with her quiet“Hush, hush.” But Mother was ill, perhaps dying.

　　Scarlett laid the whip across the weary rump of the horse. They must go faster! They had creptalong this never-ending road all the long hot day. Soon it would be night and they would be alonein this desolation that was death. She gripped the reins tighter with hands that were blistered andslapped them fiercely on the horse’s back, her aching arms burning at the movement.

　　If she could only reach the kind arms of Tara and Ellen and lay down her burdens, far too heavyfor her young shoulders—the dying woman, the fading baby, her own hungry little boy, thefrightened negro, all looking to her for strength, for guidance, all reading in her straight backcourage she did not possess and strength which had long since failed.

　　The exhausted horse did not respond to the whip or reins but shambled on, dragging his feet,stumbling on small rocks and swaying as if ready to fall to his knees. But, as twilight came, they atlast entered the final lap of the long journey. They rounded the bend of the wagon path and turnedinto the main road. Tara was only a mile away!

　　Here loomed up the dark bulk of the mock-orange hedge that marked the beginning of theMacintosh property. A little farther on, Scarlett drew rein in front of the avenue of oaks that ledfrom the road to old Angus Macintosh’s house. She peered through the gathering dusk down thetwo lines of ancient trees. All was dark. Not a single light showed in the house or in the quarters.

　　Straining her eyes in the darkness she dimly discerned a sight which had grown familiar throughthat terrible day—two tall chimneys, like gigantic tombstones towering above the ruined secondfloor, and broken unlit windows blotching the walls like still, blind eyes.

　　“Hello!” she shouted, summoning all her strength. “Hello!”

　　Prissy clawed at her in a frenzy of fright and Scarlett, turning, saw that her eyes were rolling inher head.

　　“Doan holler, Miss Scarlett! Please, doan holler agin!” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Deyain’ no tellin’ whut mout answer!”

　　“Dear God!” thought Scarlett, a shiver running through her. “Dear God! She’s right Anythingmight come out of there!”

　　She flapped the reins and urged the horse forward. The sight of the Macintosh house had prickedthe last bubble of hope remaining to her. It was burned, in rums, deserted, as were all theplantations she had passed that day. Tara lay only half a mite away, on the same road, right in thepath of the army. Tara was leveled, too! She would find only the blackened bricks, starlight shiningthrough the roofless walls, Ellen and Gerald gone, the girls gone, Mammy gone, the negroes gone,God knows where, and this hideous stillness over everything.

　　Why had she come on this fool’s errand, against all common sense, dragging Melanie and herchild? Better that they had died in Atlanta than, tortured by this day of burning sun and joltingwagon, to die in the silent ruins of Tara.

　　But Ashley had left Melanie in her care. Take care of her.” Oh, that beautiful, heartbreaking daywhen he had kissed her good-by before he went away forever! “You’ll take care of her, won’t you?

　　Promise!” And she had promised. Why had she ever bound herself with such a promise, doublybinding now that Ashley was gone? Even in her exhaustion she hated Melanie, hated the tiny mewingvoice of her child which, fainter and fainter, pierced the stillness. But she had promised andnow they belonged to her, even as Wade and Prissy belonged to her, and she must struggle andfight for them as long as she had strength or breath. She could have left them in Atlanta, dumpedMelanie into the hospital and deserted her. But had she done that, she could never face Ashley,either on this earth or in the hereafter and tell him she had left his wife and child to die amongstrangers.

　　Oh, Ashley! Where was he tonight while she toiled down this haunted road with his wife andbaby? Was he alive and did he think of her as he lay behind the bars at Rock Island? Or was hedead of smallpox months ago, rotting in some long ditch with hundreds of other Confederates?

　　Scarlett’s taut nerves almost cracked as a sudden noise sounded in the underbrush near them.

　　Prissy screamed loudly, throwing herself to the floor of the wagon, the baby beneath her. Melaniestirred feebly, her hands seeking the baby, and Wade covered his eyes and cowered, too frightenedto cry. Then the bushes beside them crashed apart under heavy hooves and a low moaning bawlassaulted their ears.

　　“It’s only a cow,” said Scarlett, her voice rough with fright. “Don’t be a fool, Prissy. You’vemashed the baby and frightened Miss Melly and Wade.”

　　“It’s a ghos’,” moaned Prissy, writhing face down on the wagon boards.

　　Turning deliberately, Scarlett raised the tree limb she had been using as a whip and brought itdown across Prissy’s back. She was too exhausted and weak from fright to tolerate weakness inanyone else.

　　“Sit up, you fool,” she said, “before I wear this out on you.”

　　Yelping, Prissy raised her head and peering over the side of the wagon saw it was, indeed, acow, a red and white animal which stood looking at them appealingly with large frightened eyes.

　　Opening its mouth, it lowed again as if in pain.

　　“Is it hurt? That doesn’t sound like an ordinary moo.”

　　“Soun’ ter me lak her bag full an’ she need milkin’ bad,” said Prissy, regaining some measure ofcontrol. “Spec it one of Mist’ Macintosh’s dat de niggers driv in de woods an’ de Yankees din’ git.”

　　“Well take it with us,” Scarlett decided swiftly. “Then we can have some milk for the baby.”

　　“How all we gwine tek a cow wid us, Miss Scarlett? We kain tek no cow wid us. Cow ain’ nogood nohow effen she ain’ been milked lately. Dey bags swells up and busts. Dat’s why shehollerin’.”

　　“Since you know so much about it, take off your petticoat and tear it up and tie her to the back of the wagon.”

　　“Miss Scarlett, you knows Ah ain’ had no petticoat fer a month an’ did Ah have one, Ah wouldn’

　　put it on her fer nuthin’. Ah nebber had no truck wid cows. Ah’s sceered of cows.”

　　Scarlett laid down the reins and pulled up her skirt. The lace-trimmed petticoat beneath was thelast garment she possessed that was pretty—and whole. She untied the waist tape and slipped itdown over her feet, crushing the soft linen folds between her hands. Rhett had brought her thatlinen and lace from Nassau on the last boat he slipped through the blockade and she had worked aweek to make the garment. Resolutely she took it by the hem and jerked, put it in her mouth andgnawed, until finally the material gave with a rip and tore the length. She gnawed furiously, torewith both hands and the petticoat lay in strips in her hands. She knotted the ends with fingers thatbled from blisters and shook from fatigue.

　　“Slip this over her horns,” she directed. But Prissy balked.

　　“Ah’s sceered of cows, Miss Scarlett. Ah ain’ nebber had nuthin’ ter do wid cows. Ah ain’ noyard nigger. Ah’s a house nigger.”

　　“You’re a fool nigger, and the worst day’s work Pa ever did was to buy you,” said Scarlettslowly, too tired for anger. “And if I ever get the use of my arm again, I’ll wear this whip out onyou.”

　　There, she thought, I’ve said “nigger” and Mother wouldn’t like that at all.

　　Prissy rolled her eyes wildly, peeping first at the set face of her mistress and then at the cowwhich bawled plaintively. Scarlett seemed the less dangerous of the two, so Prissy clutched at thesides of the wagon and remained where she was.

　　Stiffly, Scarlett climbed down from the seat, each movement of agony of aching muscles. Prissywas not the only one who was “sceered” of cows. Scarlett had always feared them, even themildest cow seemed sinister to her, but this was no time to truckle to small fears when great onescrowded so thick upon her. Fortunately the cow was gentle. In its pain it had sought humancompanionship and help and it made no threatening gesture as she looped one end of the tornpetticoat about its horns. She tied the other end to the back of the wagon, as securely as herawkward fingers would permit. Then, as she started back toward the driver’s seat, a vast wearinessassailed her and she swayed dizzily. She clutched the side of the wagon to keep from falling.

　　Melanie opened her eyes and, seeing Scarlett standing beside her, whispered: “Dear—are wehome?”

　　Home! Hot tears came to Scarlett’s eyes at the word. Home. Melanie did not know there was nohome and that they were alone in a mad and desolate world.

　　“Not yet,” she said, as gently as the constriction of her throat would permit, “but we will be,soon. I’ve just found a cow and soon well have some milk for you and the baby.”

　　“Poor baby,” whispered Melanie, her hand creeping feebly toward the child and falling short.

　　Climbing back into the wagon required all the strength Scarlett could muster, but at last it wasdone and she picked up the lines. The horse stood with head drooping dejectedly and refused tostart. Scarlett laid on the whip mercilessly. She hoped God would forgive her for hurting a tired animal. If He didn’t she was sorry. After all, Tara lay just ahead, and after the next quarter of amile, the horse could drop in the shafts if he liked.

　　Finally he started slowly, the wagon creaking and the cow lowing mournfully at every step. Thepained animal’s voice rasped on Scarlett’s nerves until she was tempted to stop and untie the beast.

　　What good would the cow do them anyway if there should be no one at Tara? She couldn’t milkher and, even if she could, the animal would probably kick anyone who touched her sore udder.

　　But she had the cow and she might as well keep her. There was little else she had in this worldnow.

　　Scarlett’s eyes grew misty when, at last, they reached the bottom of a gentle incline, for just overthe rise lay Tara! Then her heart sank. The decrepit animal would never pull the hill. The slope hadalways seemed so slight, so gradual, in days when she galloped up it on her fleet-footed mare. Itdid not seem possible it could have grown so steep since she saw it last. The horse would nevermake it with the heavy load.

　　Wearily she dismounted and took the animal by the bridle.

　　“Get out, Prissy,” she commanded, “and take Wade. Either carry him or make him walk. Lay thebaby by Miss Melanie.”

　　Wade broke into sobs and whimperings from which Scarlett could only distinguish: “Dark—dark— Wade fwightened!”

　　“Miss Scarlett, Ah kain walk. Mah feets done blistered an’ dey’s thoo mah shoes, an’ Wade an’

　　me doan weigh so much an’—”

　　“Get out! Get out before I pull you out! And if I do, I’m going to leave you right here, in thedark by yourself. Quick, now!”

　　Prissy moaned, peering at the dark trees that closed about them on both sides of the road—treeswhich might reach out and clutch her if she left the shelter of the wagon. But she laid the babybeside Melanie, scrambled to the ground and, reaching up, lifted Wade out. The little boy sobbed,shrinking close to his nurse.

　　“Make him hush. I can’t stand it,” said Scarlett, taking the horse by the bridle and pulling him toa reluctant start. “Be a little man, Wade, and stop crying or I will come over there and slap you.”

　　Why had God invented children, she thought savagely as she turned her ankle cruelly on thedark road—useless, crying nuisances they were, always demanding care, always in the way. In herexhaustion, there was no room for compassion for the frightened child, trotting by Prissy’s side,dragging at her hand and sniffling—only a weariness that she had borne him, only a tired wonderthat she had ever married Charles Hamilton.

　　“Miss Scarlett” whispered Prissy, clutching her mistress’ arm, “doan le’s go ter Tara. Dey’s notdar. Dey’s all done gone. Maybe dey daid—Maw an’ all’m.”

　　The echo of her own thoughts infuriated her and Scarlett shook off the pinching fingers.

　　“Then give me Wade’s hand. You can sit right down here and stay.”

　　“No’m! No’m!”

　　Then hush!”

　　How slowly the horse moved! The moisture from his slobbering mouth dripped down upon herhand. Through her mind ran a few words of the song she had once sung with Rhett—she could notrecall the rest:

　　“Justafew moredaysforto totethewearyload—”

　　“Just a few more steps,” hummed her brain, over and over, “just a few more steps for to tote theweary load.”

　　Then they topped the rise and before them lay the oaks of Tara, a towering dark mass against thedarkening sky. Scarlett looked hastily to see if there was a light anywhere. There was none.

　　“They are gone!” said her heart, like cold lead in her breast. “Gone!”

　　She turned the horse’s head into the driveway, and the cedars, meeting over their heads, castthem into midnight blackness. Peering up the long tunnel of darkness, straining her eyes, she sawahead—or did she see? Were her tired eyes playing her tricks?—the white bricks of Tara blurredand indistinct Home! Home! The dear white walls, the windows with the fluttering curtains, thewide verandas—were they all there ahead of her, in the gloom? Or did the darkness mercifullyconceal such a horror as the Macintosh house?

　　The avenue seemed miles long and the horse, pulling stubbornly at her hand, plopped slowerand slower. Eagerly her eyes searched the darkness. The roof seemed to be intact Could it be—could it be—? No, it wasn’t possible. War stopped for nothing, not even Tara, built to last fivehundred years. It could not have passed over Tara.

　　Then the shadowy outline did take form. She pulled the horse forward faster. The white wallsdid show there through the darkness. And untarnished by smoke. Tara had escaped! Home! Shedropped the bridle and ran the last few steps, leaped forward with an urge to clutch the wallsthemselves in her arms. Then she saw a form, shadowy in the dimness, emerging from theblackness of the front veranda and standing at the top of the steps. Tara was not deserted. Someonewas home!

　　A cry of joy rose to her throat and died there. The house was so dark and still and the figure didnot move or call to her. What was wrong? What was wrong? Tara stood intact, yet shrouded withthe same eerie quiet that hung over the whole stricken countryside. Then the figure moved. Stifflyand slowly, it came down the steps.

　　“Pa?” she whispered huskily, doubting almost that it was he. “It’s me—Katie Scarlett. I’ve comehome.”

　　Gerald moved toward her, silent as a sleepwalker, his stiff leg dragging. He came close to her,looking at her in a dazed way as if he believed she was part of a dream. Putting out his hand, helaid it on her shoulder. Scarlett felt it tremble, tremble as if he had been awakened from anightmare into a half-sense of reality.

　　“Daughter,” he said with an effort “Daughter.”

　　Then he was silentWhy—he’s an old man! thought ScarlettGerald’s shoulders sagged. In the face which she could only see dimly, there was none of thevirility, the restless vitality of Gerald, and the eyes that looked into hers had almost the same fear-stunned look that lay in little Wade’s eyes. He was only a little old man and broken.

　　And now, fear of unknown things seized her, leaped swiftly out of the darkness at her and shecould only stand and stare at him, all the flood of questioning dammed up at her lips.

　　From the wagon the faint wailing sounded again and Gerald seemed to rouse himself with aneffort“It’s Melanie and her baby,” whispered Scarlett rapidly. “She’s very ill—I brought her home.”

　　Gerald dropped his hand from her arm and straightened his shoulders. As he moved slowly tothe side of the wagon, there was a ghostly semblance of the old host of Tara welcoming guests, asif Gerald spoke words from out of shadowy memory.

　　“Cousin Melanie!”

　　Melanie’s voice murmured indistinctly.

　　“Cousin Melanie, this is your home. Twelve Oaks is burned. You must stay with us.”

　　Thoughts of Melanie’s prolonged suffering spurred Scarlett to action. The present was with heragain, the necessity of laying Melanie and her child on a soft bed and doing those small things forher that could be done.

　　“She must be carried. She can’t walk.”

　　There was a scuffle of feet and a dark figure emerged from the cave of the front hall. Pork randown the steps.

　　“Miss Scarlett! Miss Scarlett!” he cried.

　　Scarlett caught him by the arms. Pork, part and parcel of Tara, as dear as the bricks and the coolcorridors! She felt his tears stream down on her hands as he patted her clumsily, crying: “Sho isglad you back! Sho is—”............