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作者：(美) 玛格丽特.米切尔

内容简介：《飘》讲述的故事发生于美国南北战争时期的佐治亚州，以几对男女青年的爱情历程为主线，反应了几个南方世族家族的兴衰史以及南北战争及南方战后重建的情形。女主角斯佳丽本来是一个娇生惯养的庄园小姐，经历了战争之后，终于蜕变为一个坚强的、自食其力的女商人，其性格具有自私、贪婪、坚定、敢爱敢恨等多重特点,是美国小说中最丰富、最饱满、最经典的女性形象之一。而小说中那段倾城之恋也成为美国小说史上最具浪漫传奇色彩的爱情故事。

《飘》是女作家玛格丽特·米切尔一生唯一的一部长篇小说，小说于1936年6月问世，1937年获得普利策最佳小说奖。小说被翻译成四十多种文字，在世界各地出版，被誉为“一切时代的畅销小说”。



Part One CHAPTER I
SCARLETT O’HARA was not beautiful, but men seldom realized it when caught byher charm as the Tarleton twins were. In her face were too sharply blended thedelicate features of her mother, a Coast aristocrat of French descent, and theheavy ones of her florid Irish father. But it was an arresting face, pointed ofchin, square of jaw. Her eyes were pale green without a touch of hazel, starredwith bristly black lashes and slightly tilted at the ends. Above them, her thickblack brows slanted upward, cutting a startling oblique line in hermagnolia-white skin—that skin so prized by Southern women and so carefullyguarded with bonnets, veils and mittens against hot Georgia suns.
Seated with Stuart and Brent Tarleton in the cool shade of the porch of Tara,her father’s plantation, that bright April afternoon of 1861, she made a prettypicture. Her new green flowered-muslin dress spread its twelve yards ofbillowing material over her hoops and exactly matched the flat-heeled greenmorocco slippers her father had recently brought her from Atlanta. The dress setoff to perfection the seventeen-inch waist, the smallest in three counties, andthe tightly fitting basque showed breasts well matured for her sixteen years.But for all the modesty of her spreading skirts, the demureness of hair nettedsmoothly into a chignon and the quietness of small white hands folded in herlap, her true self was poorly concealed. The green eyes in the carefully sweetface were turbulent, willful, lusty with life, distinctly at variance with herdecorous demeanor. Her manners had been imposed upon her by her mother’s gentleadmonitions and the sterner discipline of her mammy; her eyes were her own.
On either side of her, the twins lounged easily in their chairs, squinting atthe sunlight through tall mint-garnished glasses as they laughed and talked,their long legs, booted to the knee and thick with saddle muscles, crossednegligently. Nineteen years old, six feet two inches tall, long of bone and hardof muscle, with sunburned faces and deep auburn hair, their eyes merry andarrogant, their bodies clothed in identical blue coats and mustard-coloredbreeches, they were as much alike as two bolls of cotton.
Outside, the late afternoon sun slanted down in the yard, throwing intogleaming brightness the dogwood trees that were solid masses of white blossomsagainst the background of new green. The twins’ horses were hitched in thedriveway, big animals, red as their masters’ hair; and around the horses’ legsquarreled the pack of lean, nervous possum hounds that accompanied Stuart andBrent wherever they went. A little aloof, as became an aristocrat, lay ablack-spotted carriage dog, muzzle on paws, patiently waiting for the boys to gohome to supper.
Between the hounds and the horses and the twins there was a kinship deeperthan that of their constant companionship. They were all healthy, thoughtlessyoung animals, sleek, graceful, high-spirited, the boys as mettlesome as thehorses they rode, mettlesome and dangerous but, withal, sweet-tempered to thosewho knew how to handle them.
Although born to the ease of plantation life, waited on hand and foot sinceinfancy, the faces of the three on the porch were neither slack nor soft. Theyhad the vigor and alertness of country people who have spent all their lives inthe open and troubled their heads very little with dull things in books. Life inthe north Georgia county of Clayton was still new and, according to thestandards of Augusta, Savannah and Charleston, a little crude. The more sedateand older sections of the South looked down their noses at the up-countryGeorgians, but here in north Georgia, a lack of the niceties of classicaleducation carried no shame, provided a man was smart in the things thatmattered. And raising good cotton, riding well, shooting straight, dancinglightly, squiring the ladies with elegance and carrying one’s liquor like agentleman were the things that mattered.
In these accomplishments the twins excelled, and they were equallyoutstanding in their notorious inability to learn anything contained between thecovers of books. Their family had more money, more horses, more slaves than anyone else in the County, but the boys had less grammar than most of their poorCracker neighbors.
It was for this precise reason that Stuart and Brent were idling on the porchof Tara this April afternoon. They had just been expelled from the University ofGeorgia, the fourth university that had thrown them out in two years; and theirolder brothers, Tom and Boyd, had come home with them, because they refused toremain at an institution where the twins were not welcome. Stuart and Brentconsidered their latest expulsion a fine joke, and Scarlett, who had notwillingly opened a book since leaving the Fayetteville Female Academy the yearbefore, thought it just as amusing as they did.
“I know you two don’t care about being expelled, or Tom either,” she said.“But what about Boyd? He’s kind of set on getting an education, and you two havepulled him out of the University of Virginia and Alabama and South Carolina andnow Georgia. He’ll never get finished at this rate.”
“Oh, he can read law in Judge Parmalee’s office over in Fayetteville,”answered Brent carelessly. “Besides, it don’t matter much. We’d have had to comehome before the term was out anyway.”
“Why?”
“The war, goose! The war’s going to start any day, and you don’t suppose anyof us would stay in college with a war going on, do you?”
“You know there isn’t going to be any war,” said Scarlett, bored. “It’s alljust talk. Why, Ashley Wilkes and his father told Pa just last week that ourcommissioners in Washington would come to—to—an—amicable agreement with Mr.Lincoln about the Confederacy. And anyway, the Yankees are too scared of us tofight. There won’t be any war, and I’m tired of hearing about it.”
“Not going to be any war!” cried the twins indignantly, as though they hadbeen defrauded.
“Why, honey, of course there’s going to be a war,” said Stuart. The Yankeesmay be scared of us, but after the way General Beauregard shelled them out ofFort Sumter day before yesterday, they’ll have to fight or stand branded ascowards before the whole world. Why, the Confederacy—”
Scarlett made a mouth of bored impatience.
If you say ‘war’ just once more, I’ll go in the house and shut the door. I’venever gotten so tired of any one word in my life as ‘war,’ unless it’s‘secession.’ Pa talks war morning, noon and night, and all the gentlemen whocome to see him shout about Fort Sumter and States’ Rights and Abe Lincoln tillI get so bored I could scream! And that’s all the boys talk about, too, that andtheir old Troop. There hasn’t been any fun at any party this spring because theboys can’t talk about anything else. I’m mighty glad Georgia waited till afterChristmas before it seceded or it would have ruined the Christmas parties, too.If you say ‘war’ again, I’ll go in the house.”
She meant what she said, for she could never long endure any conversation ofwhich she was not the chief subject. But she smiled when she spoke, consciouslydeepening her dimple and fluttering her bristly black lashes as swiftly asbutterflies’ wings. The boys were enchanted, as she had intended them to be, andthey hastened to apologize for boring her. They thought none the less of her forher lack of interest. Indeed, they thought more. War was men’s business, notladies’, and they took her attitude as evidence of her femininity.
Having maneuvered them away from the boring subject of war, she went backwith interest to their immediate situation.
“What did your mother say about you two being expelled again?”
The boys looked uncomfortable, recalling their mother’s conduct three monthsago when they had come home, by request, from the University of Virginia.
“Well,” said Stuart, “she hasn’t had a chance to say anything yet. Tom and usleft home early this morning before she got up, and Tom’s laying out over at theFontaines’ while we came over here.”
“Didn’t she say anything when you got home last night?”
“We were in luck last night. Just before we got home that new stallion Ma gotin Kentucky last month was brought in, and the place was in a stew. The bigbrute—he’s a grand horse, Scarlett; you must tell your pa to come over and seehim right away—he’d already bitten a hunk out of his groom on the way down hereand he’d trampled two of Ma’s darkies who met the train at Jonesboro. And justbefore we got home, he’d about kicked the stable down and half-killedStrawberry, Ma’s old stallion. When we got home, Ma was out in the stable with asackful of sugar smoothing him down and doing it mighty well, too. The darkieswere hanging from the rafters, popeyed, they were so scared, but Ma was talkingto the horse like he was folks and he was eating out of her hand. There ain’tnobody like Ma with a horse. And when she saw us she said: ‘In Heaven’s name,what are you four doing home again? You’re worse than the plagues of Egypt!’ Andthen the horse began snorting and rearing and she said: ‘Get out of here! Can’tyou see he’s nervous, the big darling? I’ll tend to you four in the morning!’ Sowe went to bed, and this morning we got away before she could catch us. and leftBoyd to handle her.”
“Do you suppose she’ll hit Boyd?” Scarlett, like the rest of the County,could never get used to the way small Mrs. Tarleton bullied her grown sons andlaid her riding crop on their backs if the occasion seemed to warrant it.
Beatrice Tarleton was a busy woman, having on her hands not only a largecotton plantation, a hundred negroes and eight children, but the largesthorse-breeding farm in the state as well. She was hot-tempered and easilyplagued by the frequent scrapes of her four sons, and while no one was permittedto whip a horse or a slave, she felt that a lick now and then didn’t do the boysany harm.
“Of course she won’t hit Boyd. She never did beat Boyd much because he’s theoldest and besides he’s the runt of the litter,” said Stuart, proud of his sixfeet two. “That’s why we left him at home to explain things to her. God’lmighty,Ma ought to stop licking us! We’re nineteen and Tom’s twenty-one, and she actslike we’re six years old.”
“Will your mother ride the new horse to the Wilkes barbecue tomorrow?”
“She wants to, but Pa says he’s too dangerous. And, anyway, the girls won’tlet her. They said they were going to have her go to one party at least like alady, riding in the carriage.”
“I hope it doesn’t rain tomorrow,” said Scarlett. “It’s rained nearly everyday for a week. There’s nothing worse than a barbecue turned into an indoorpicnic.”
“Oh, it’ll be clear tomorrow and hot as June,” said Stuart. “Look at Oatsunset I never saw one redder. You can always tell weather by sunsets.”
They looked out across the endless acres of Gerald O’Hara’s newly plowedcotton fields toward the red horizon. Now that the sun was setting in a welterof crimson behind tin lulls across the Flint River, the warmth of the April daywas ebbing into a faint but balmy chill.
Spring had come early that year, with warm quick rains and sudden frothing ofpink peach blossoms and dogwood dappling with white stars the dark river swampand far-off hills. Already the plowing was nearly finished, and the bloody gloryof the sunset colored the fresh-cut furrows of red Georgia clay to even redderhues. The moist hungry earth, waiting upturned for the cotton seeds, showedpinkish on the sandy tops of furrows, vermilion and scarlet and maroon whereshadows lay along the sides of the trenches. The whitewashed brick plantationhouse seemed an island set in a wild red sea, a sea of spiraling, curving,crescent billows petrified suddenly at the moment when the pink-tipped waveswere breaking into surf. For here were no long, straight furrows, such as couldbe seen in the yellow clay fields of the flat middle Georgia country or in thelush black earth of the coastal plantations. The rolling foothill country ofnorth Georgia was plowed in a million curves to keep the rich earth from washingdown into the river bottoms.
It was a savagely red land, blood-colored after rains, brick dust indroughts, the best cotton land in the world. It was a pleasant land of whitehouses, peaceful plowed fields and sluggish yellow rivers, but a land ofcontrasts, of brightest sun glare and densest shade. The plantation clearingsand miles of cotton fields smiled up to a warm sun, placid, complacent. At theiredges rose the virgin forests, dark and cool even in the hottest noons,mysterious, a little sinister, the soughing pines seeming to wait with anage-old patience, to threaten with soft sighs: “Be careful! Be careful! We hadyou once. We can take you back again.”
To the ears of the three on the porch came the sounds of hooves, the jinglingof harness chains and the shrill careless laughter of negro voices, as the fieldhands and mules came in from the fields. From within the house floated the softvoice of Scarlett’s mother, Ellen O’Hara, as she called to the little black girlwho carried her basket of keys. The high-pitched, childish voice answered“Yas’m,” and there were sounds of footsteps going out the back way toward thesmokehouse where Ellen would ration out the food to the home-coming hands. Therewas the click of china and the rattle of silver as Pork, the valet-butler ofTara, laid the table for supper.
At these last sounds, the twins realized it was time they were starting home.But they were loath to face their mother and they lingered on the porch of Tara,momentarily expecting Scarlett to give them an invitation to supper.
“Look, Scarlett. About tomorrow,” said Brent. “Just because we’ve been awayand didn’t know about the barbecue and the ball, that’s no reason why weshouldn’t get plenty of dances tomorrow night. You haven’t promised them all,have you?”
“Well, I have! How did I know you all would be home? I couldn’t risk being awallflower just waiting on you two.”
“You a wallflower!” The boys laughed uproariously.
“Look, honey. You’ve got to give me the first waltz and Stu the last one andyou’ve got to eat supper with us. We’ll sit on the stair landing like we did atthe last ball and get Mammy Jincy to come tell our fortunes again.”
“I don’t like Mammy Jincy’s fortunes. You know she said I was going to marrya gentleman with jet-black hair and a long black mustache, and I don’t likeblack-haired gentlemen.”
“You like ‘em red-headed, don’t you, honey?” grinned Brent “Now, come on,promise us all the waltzes and the supper.”
“If you’ll promise, we’ll tell you a secret,” said Stuart.
“What?” cried Scarlett, alert as a child at the word.
“Is it what we heard yesterday in Atlanta, Stu? If it is, you know wepromised not to tell.”
“Well, Miss Pitty told us.”
“Miss Who?”
“You know, Ashley Wilkes’ cousin who lives in Atlanta, Miss PittypatHamilton—Charles and Melanie Hamilton’s aunt.”
“I do, and a sillier old lady I never met in all my life.”
“Well, when we were in Atlanta yesterday, waiting for the home train, hercarriage went by the depot and she stopped and talked to us, and she told usthere was going to be an engagement announced tomorrow night at the Wilkesball.”
“Oh, I know about that,” said Scarlett in disappointment. “That silly nephewof hers, Charlie Hamilton, and Honey Wilkes. Everybody’s known for years thatthey’d get married some time, even if he did seem kind of lukewarm aboutit.”
“Do you think he’s silly?” questioned Brent. “Last Christmas you sure let himbuzz round you plenty.”
“I couldn’t help him buzzing,” Scarlett shrugged negligently. “I think he’san awful sissy.”
“Besides, it isn’t his engagement that’s going to be announced,” said Stuarttriumphantly. “It’s Ashley’s to Charlie’s sister, Miss Melanie!”
Scarlett’s face did not change but her lips went white—like a person who hasreceived a stunning blow without warning and who, in the first moments of shock,does not realize what has happened. So still was her face as she stared atStuart that he, never analytic, took it for granted that she was merelysurprised and very interested.
“Miss Pitty told us they hadn’t intended announcing it till next year,because Miss Melly hasn’t been very well; but with all the war talk goingaround, everybody in both families thought it would be better to get marriedsoon. So it’s to be announced tomorrow night at the supper intermission. Now,Scarlett, we’ve told you the secret, so you’ve got to promise to eat supper withus.”
“Of course I will,” Scarlett said automatically.
“And all the waltzes?”
“All.”
“You’re sweet! I’ll bet the other boys will be hopping mad.”
“Let ‘em be mad,” said Brent. “We two can handle ‘em. Look, Scarlett. Sitwith us at the barbecue in the morning.”
“What?”
Stuart repeated his request.
“Of course.”
The twins looked at each other jubilantly but with some surprise. Althoughthey considered themselves Scarlett’s favored suitors, they had never beforegained tokens of this favor so easily. Usually she made them beg and plead,while she put them off, refusing to give a Yes or No answer, laughing if theysulked, growing cool if they became angry. And here she had practically promisedthem the whole of tomorrow—seats by her at the barbecue, all the waltzes (andthey’d see to it that the dances were all waltzes!) and the supper intermission.This was worth getting expelled from the university.
Filled with new enthusiasm by their success, they lingered on, talking aboutthe barbecue and the ball and Ashley Wilkes and Melanie Hamilton, interruptingeach other, making jokes and laughing at them, hinting broadly for invitationsto supper. Some time had passed before they realized that Scarlett was havingvery little to say. The atmosphere had somehow changed. Just how, the twins didnot know, but the fine glow had gone out of the afternoon. Scarlett seemed to bepaying little attention to what they said, although she made the correctanswers. Sensing something they could not understand, baffled and annoyed by it,the twins struggled along for a while, and then rose reluctantly, looking attheir watches.
The sun was low across the new-plowed fields and the tall woods across theriver were looming blackly in silhouette. Chimney swallows were darting swiftlyacross the yard, and chickens, ducks and turkeys were waddling and strutting andstraggling in from the fields.
Stuart bellowed: “Jeems!” And after an interval a tall black boy of their ownage ran breathlessly around the house and out toward the tethered horses. Jeemswas their body servant and, like the dogs, accompanied them everywhere. He hadbeen their childhood playmate and had been given to the twins for their own ontheir tenth birthday. At the sight of him, the Tarleton hounds rose up out ofthe red dust and stood waiting expectantly for their masters. The boys bowed,shook hands and told Scarlett they’d be over at the Wilkeses’ early in themorning, waiting for her. Then they were off down the walk at a rush, mountedtheir horses and, followed by Jeems, went down the avenue of cedars at a gallop,waving their hats and yelling back to her.
When they had rounded the curve of the dusty road that hid them from Tara,Brent drew his horse to a stop under a clump of dogwood. Stuart halted, too, andthe darky boy pulled up a few paces behind them. The horses, feeling slackreins, stretched down their necks to crop the tender spring grass, and thepatient hounds lay down again in the soft red dust and looked up longingly atthe chimney swallows circling in the gathering dusk. Brent’s wide ingenuous facewas puzzled and mildly indignant.
“Look,” he said. “Don’t it look to you like she would of asked us to stay forsupper?”
“I thought she would,” said Stuart. I kept waiting for her to do it, but shedidn’t. What do you make of it?”
“I don’t make anything of it But it just looks to me like she might of. Afterall, it’s our first day home and she hasn’t seen us in quite a spell. And we hadlots more things to tell her.”
“It looked to me like she was mighty glad to see us when we came.”
“I thought so, too.”
“And then, about a half-hour ago, she got kind of quiet, like she had aheadache.”
“I noticed that but I didn’t pay it any mind then. What do you suppose ailedher?”
“I dunno. Do you suppose we said something that made her mad?”
They both thought for a minute.
“I can’t think of anything. Besides, when Scarlett gets mad, everybody knowsit. She don’t hold herself in like some girls do.”
“Yes, that’s what I like about her. She don’t go around being cold andhateful when she’s mad—she tells you about it. But it was something we did orsaid that made her shut up talking and look sort of sick. I could swear she wasglad to see us when we came and was aiming to ask us to supper.”
“You don’t suppose it’s because we got expelled?”
“Hell, no! Don’t be a fool. She laughed like everything when we told herabout it. And besides Scarlett don’t set any more store by book learning than wedo.”
Brent turned in the saddle and called to the negro groom.
“Jeems!”
“Suh?”
“You heard what we were talking to Miss Scarlett about?”
“Nawsuh, Mist’ Brent! Huccome you think Ah be spyin’ on w’ite folks?”
“Spying, my God! You darkies know everything that goes on. Why, you liar, Isaw you with my own eyes sidle round the corner of the porch and squat in thecape jessamine bush by the wall. Now, did you hear us say anything that mighthave made Miss Scarlett mad—or hurt her feelings?”
Thus appealed to, Teems gave up further pretense of not having overheard theconversation and furrowed his black brow.
“Nawsuh, Ah din’ notice y’all say anything ter mek her mad. Look ter me lakshe sho glad ter see you an’ sho had missed you, an’ she cheep along happy as abird, tell ‘bout de time y’all got ter talkin’ ‘bout Mist’ Ashley an’ Miss MellyHamilton gittin’ mah’ied. Den she quiet down lak a bird w’en de hawk flyober.”
The twins looked at each other and nodded, but without comprehension.
“Jeems is right. But I don’t see why,” said Stuart. “My Lord! Ashley don’tmean anything to her, ‘cept a friend. She’s not crazy about him. It’s us she’scrazy about.”
Brent nodded an agreement.
“But do you suppose,” he said, “that maybe Ashley hadn’t told her he wasgoing to announce it tomorrow night and she was mad at him for not telling her,an old friend, before he told everybody else? Girls set a big store on knowingsuch things first.”
“Well, maybe. But what if he hadn’t told her it was tomorrow? It was supposedto be a secret and a surprise, and a man’s got a right to keep his ownengagement quiet, hasn’t he? We wouldn’t have known it if Miss Melly’s aunthadn’t let it out. But Scarlett must have known he was going to marry Miss Mellysometime. Why, we’ve known it for years. The Wilkes and Hamiltons always marrytheir own cousins. Everybody knew he’d probably marry her some day, just likeHoney Wilkes is going to marry Miss Melly’s brother, Charles.”
“Well, I give it up. But I’m sorry she didn’t ask us to supper. I swear Idon’t want to go home and listen to Ma take on about us being expelled. It isn’tas if this was the first time.”
“Maybe Boyd will have smoothed her down by now. You know what a slick talkerthat little varmint is. You know he always can smooth her down.”
“Yes, he can do it, but it takes Boyd time. He has to talk around in circlestill Ma gets so confused that she gives up and tells him to save his voice forhis law practice. But he ain’t had time to get good started yet. Why, I’ll betyou Ma is still so excited about the new horse that she’ll never even realizewe’re home again till She sits down to supper tonight and sees Boyd. And beforesupper is over she’ll be going strong and breathing fire. And it’ll be teno’clock before Boyd gets a chance to tell her that it wouldn’t have beenhonorable for any of us to stay in college after the way the Chancellor talkedto you and me. And it’ll be midnight before he gets her turned around to whereshe’s so mad at the Chancellor she’ll be asking Boyd why he didn’t shoot him.No, we can’t go home till after midnight”
The twins looked at each other glumly. They were completely fearless of wildhorses, shooting affrays and the indignation of their neighbors, but they had awholesome fear of their red-haired mother’s outspoken remarks and the ridingcrop that she did not scruple to lay across their breeches.
“Well, look,” said Brent. “Let’s go over to the Wilkes’. Ashley and thegirls’ll be glad to have us for supper.”
Stuart looked a little discomforted.
“No, don’t let’s go there. They’ll be in a stew getting ready for thebarbecue tomorrow and besides—”
“Oh, I forgot about that,” said Brent hastily. “No, don’t let’s gothere.”
They clucked to their horses and rode along in silence for a while, a flushof embarrassment on Stuart’s brown cheeks. Until the previous summer, Stuart hadcourted India Wilkes with the approbation of both families and the entireCounty. The County felt that perhaps the cool and contained India Wilkes wouldhave a quieting effect on him. They fervently hoped so, at any rate. And Stuartmight have made the match, but Brent had not been satisfied. Brent liked Indiabut he thought her mighty plain and tame, and he simply could not fall in lovewith her himself to keep Stuart company. That was the first time the twins’interest had ever diverged, and Brent was resentful of his brother’s attentionsto a girl who seemed to him not at all remarkable.
Then, last summer at a political speaking in a grove of oak trees atJonesboro, they both suddenly became aware of Scarlett O’Hara. They had knownher for years, and, since their childhood, she had been a favorite playmate, forshe could ride horses and climb trees almost as well as they. But now to theiramazement she had become a grown-up young lady and quite the most charming onein all the world.
They noticed for the first time how her green eyes danced, how deep herdimples were when she laughed, how tiny her hands and feet and what a smallwaist she had. Their clever remarks sent her into merry peals of laughter and,inspired by the thought that she considered them a remarkable pair, they fairlyoutdid themselves.
It was a memorable day in the life of the twins. Thereafter, when they talkedit over, they always wondered just why they had failed to notice Scarlett’scharms before. They never arrived at the correct answer, which was that Scarletton that day had decided to make them notice. She was constitutionally unable toendure any man being in love with any woman not herself, and the sight of IndiaWilkes and Stuart at the speaking had been too much for her predatory nature.Not content with Stuart alone, she had set her cap for Brent as well, and with athoroughness that overwhelmed the two of them.
Now they were both in love with her, and India Wilkes and Letty Munroe, fromLovejoy, whom Brent had been half-heartedly courting, were far in the back oftheir minds. Just what the loser would do, should Scarlett accept either one ofthem, the twins did not ask. They would cross that bridge when they came to it.For the present they were quite satisfied to be in accord again about one girl,for they had no jealousies between them. It was a situation which interested theneighbors and annoyed their mother, who had no liking for Scarlett.
“It will serve you right if that sly piece does accept one of you,” she said.“Or maybe she’ll accept both of you, and then you’ll have to move to Utah, ifthe Mormons’ll have you—which I doubt. ... All that bothers me is that some oneof these days you’re both going to get lickered up and jealous of each otherabout that two-faced, little, green-eyed baggage, and you’ll shoot each other.But that might not be a bad idea either.”
Since the day of the speaking, Stuart had been uncomfortable in India’spresence. Not that India ever reproached him or even indicated by look orgesture that she was aware of his abruptly changed allegiance. She was too muchof a lady. But Stuart felt guilty and ill at ease with her. He knew he had madeIndia love him and he knew that she still loved him and, deep in his heart, hehad the feeling that he had not played the gentleman. He still liked hertremendously and respected her for her cool good breeding, her book learning andall the sterling qualities she possessed. But, damn it, she was just so pallidand uninteresting and always the same, beside Scarlett’s bright and changeablecharm. You always knew where you stood with India and you never had theslightest notion with Scarlett. That was enough to drive a man to distraction,but it had its charm.
“Well, let’s go over to Cade Calvert’s and have supper. Scarlett saidCathleen was home from Charleston. Maybe she’ll have some news about Fort Sumterthat we haven’t heard.”
“Not Cathleen. I’ll lay you two to one she didn’t even know the fort was outthere in the harbor, much less that it was full of Yankees until we shelled themout. All she’ll know about is the balls she went to and the beaux shecollected.”
“Well, it’s fun to hear her gabble. And it’ll be somewhere to hide out tillMa has gone to bed.”
“Well, hell! I like Cathleen and she is fun and I’d like to hear about CaroRhett and the rest of the Charleston folks; but I’m damned if I can standsitting through another meal with that Yankee stepmother of hers.”
“Don’t be too hard on her, Stuart. She means well.”
“I’m not being hard on her. I feel sorry for her, but I don’t like peopleI’ve got to feel sorry for. And she fusses around so much, trying to do theright thing and make you feel at home, that she always manages to say and dojust exactly the wrong thing. She gives me the fidgets! And she thinksSoutherners are wild barbarians. She even told Ma so. She’s afraid ofSoutherners. Whenever we’re there she always looks scared to death. She remindsme of a skinny hen perched on a chair, her eyes kind of bright and blank andscared, all ready to flap and squawk at the slightest move anybody makes.”
“Well, you can’t blame her. You did shoot Cade in the leg.”
“Well, I was lickered up or I wouldn’t have done it,” said Stuart. “And Cadenever had any hard feelings. Neither did Cathleen or Raiford or Mr. Calvert. Itwas just that Yankee stepmother who squalled and said I was a wild barbarian anddecent people weren’t safe around uncivilized Southerners.”
“Well, you can’t blame her. She’s a Yankee and ain’t got very good manners;and, after all, you did shoot him and he is her stepson.”
“Well, hell! That’s no excuse for insulting me! You are Ma’s own blood son,but did she take on that time Tony Fontaine shot you in the leg? No, she justsent for old Doc Fontaine to dress it and asked the doctor what ailed Tony’saim. Said she guessed licker was spoiling his marksmanship. Remember how madthat made Tony?”
Both boys yelled with laughter.
“Ma’s a card!” said Brent with loving approval. “You can always count on herto do the right thing and not embarrass you in front of folks.”
“Yes, but she’s mighty liable to talk embarrassing in front of Father and thegirls when we get home tonight,” said Stuart gloomily. “Look, Brent. I guessthis means we don’t go to Europe. You know Mother said if we got expelled fromanother college we couldn’t have our Grand Tour.”
“Well, hell! We don’t care, do we? What is there to see in Europe? I’ll betthose foreigners can’t show us a thing we haven’t got right here in Georgia.I’ll bet their horses aren’t as fast or their girls as pretty, and I know damnwell they haven’t got any rye whisky that can touch Father’s.”
“Ashley Wilkes said they had an awful lot of scenery and music. Ashley likedEurope. He’s always talking about it.”
“Well—you know how the Wilkes are. The

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[table=80%,#ffffff,#ffc000,2][tr][td]第六章

他脽妄了河，马车向山上驶去。在“十二橡树”村还没进入眼帘之前，思嘉就已经看见一团烟雾在那些高高的树顶上悠闲地飘浮着，也闻到了臒蜕混合着燃烧的山胡桃木和烤猪肉羊肉的香味。

那些从头天晚上便在缓缓燃着的烤全牲的火坑，估计现在已成为玫瑰红灰烬的长槽，兽肉在上面的叉子上转动着，肉汁缓缓地滴落在炭火中，发出咝咝的声音。思嘉知道微风吹送的臒蜕香味是从那幢大房子背后的大橡树林里起来的。约翰·威尔克斯常常是在那里，在那缓缓而下通向玫瑰园的斜坡上，举行他的全牲野宴。这个阴凉宜人的佳境要比别的例如卡尔弗特家使用的地方好得多。卡尔弗特太太不喜欢野宴上的食品，并且声称好几天之后房子里都还有那些气味，所以她的客人就常常被安排在一个离住宅四分之一英里的平坦而没有遮荫的地点热汗淋漓地吃着。不过，也只有这位以好客闻名全州的约翰·威尔克斯才真正懂得怎样举行野宴。

那些带有支架的长长的野餐桌上沿着威尔克斯家最漂亮的亚麻布，这些餐桌常常摆在最阴凉的地方，两旁是没有靠背的条凳；空地上还放着一些椅子、矮脚凳和坐椅，是给那些不喜欢坐条凳的人准备的。在离宴席较远的地方才是那些长长的烤野兽肉的火坑和炖肉汁的大铁锅，这里散发的油烟和种种浓烈的香味是客人们闻不到的。威尔克斯先生经常养着至少十来个黑人，他们端着托盘来回跑动为客人提供食品。

那边仓房背后还设有另一个野宴火炕，专供家仆、来宾们的车夫、侍女等人使用，他们吃是的玉米饼、山薯和黑人最喜欢的牲畜内脏，时令碰巧时还有足够的西瓜让他们吃个饱。

当思嘉远远闻到的新鲜猪肉的香味时，她欣赏地皱起鼻子，希望等烤好以后她的食欲会旺盛起来。此刻她的肚子里还是饱饱的，而且腰扎得很紧，生怕自己随时都会打出嗝来。

那就要命了，如果真是打嗝，因为只有老头儿和老太婆才不怕周围的人议论敢在宴度上打嗝呢。

他们驶上了山顶，这时那座白房子已整整齐齐的出现在她面前，你看那高高的圆柱，宽阔的游廊，平坦的屋顶，这美丽得像一个那么相信自己魅力的美人儿，她显得雍容大方，对谁都一样亲切可爱了。思嘉喜爱“十二橡树”村胜过喜欢塔拉农场，因为它的一种堂皇的美，一种柔和的庄严，而这是杰拉尔德的住宅所不具备的。

宽阔曲折的车道上到处是骑乘的马和马车，宾客们正纷纷下马下车，向朋友打招呼。咧着大嘴傻笑的黑人对宴会总是那么兴奋，他们正在把牲口牵到仓场上去卸鞍解辔，让它们好好休息一下。成群的孩子，有黑的，有白的，在新绿的草地上嚷着跑着，玩跳房子和捉人的游戏，并且竞相夸口要在野宴上吃多少多少东西。那间从前头一直延伸到屋后的宽敞的大厅里已经挤满了人，当奥哈拉的马车驶到前面台阶边停下时，思嘉看见那些像蝴蝶般漂亮的姑娘们摇摆着裙裾在二楼的楼梯上走上走下，有的彼此搂着腰肢倚在楼栏杆上，笑着招呼下面大厅里的年轻小伙子们。

从那敞开的法国式窗口，她看见那些年龄较大的妇女穿着深色绸衣摇着扇子端端正正坐在客厅里，谈论着婴儿、疾病和谁跟谁结婚，以及怎么结婚的，等等。威尔克斯的膳事总管汤姆在大厅和门厅里穿梭忙合着，他手里端着一只银托盘，不停地鞠躬微笑，向那些身穿淡米色或灰色裤子和皱边亚麻布衬衫的青年人奉上高脚酒杯。

阳光灿烂的前廊上也拥挤着宾客。是的，全县的人都在这里了，思嘉心想。塔尔顿家四个小伙子和他们的父亲倚着高高的圆柱，孪生兄弟斯图尔特和布伦特照例肩并肩站在那儿，博伊德和汤姆则同他们的父亲詹姆斯·塔尔顿在一起。卡尔弗特先生贴在近他的北方佬老婆，后者虽然已在佐治亚生活了１５年之久，可仍然显得有点像陌生人似的。每个人对她十分客气而亲切，都觉得她可怜，不过谁也不会忘记她由于做了卡尔弗特先生的孩子们的家庭教师而加重了她在出身上犯下的过失。那两个卡尔弗家的小伙子雷福德和凯德，同他们那个活跃的白白胖胖的妹妹凯瑟琳在一起，向黑脸乔·方丹和他的漂亮未婚妻萨莉·芒罗开玩笑。亚可克斯和托尼·方丹在向迪米蒂·芒罗耳语，惹得她一次又一次格格大笑。有些家庭是远道而来的，例如从十英里外的洛夫乔伊，从费耶特维尔，从琼斯博罗，少数几家甚至来自亚特兰大和梅肯。整个房子像要被客人挤垮了，而不停地高谈阔论和哗然大笑，以及妇女们格格的笑声，尖叫声和喧嚷声，更是此起彼落，热闹无比。

思嘉看见约翰·威尔克斯站在走廊台阶上，他一头银丝般的头发，腰背挺直，焕发着宁静和蔼的容光，像佐治亚夏天的太阳一般永不衰败。他旁边站着霍妮·威尔克斯（人们之所以这样称呼她，是因为她对于从父亲到大田劳工所有的人都用同样亲切的口气说话），她正在不停地欢笑着迎接每一位来宾。

霍妮那种显然渴望对谁都显得亲切动人的劲儿，同她父亲的姿态形成了鲜明的对比，这使思嘉想起也许塔尔顿太太刚才说的话毕竟是有些道理。威尔克斯家的男人们无疑有自己的家族特征。那种把约翰·威尔克斯和艾希礼的灰眼睛衬托得更显著的赤金色浓睫毛，在霍妮和她妹妹英迪亚的脸上便变得稀疏而没有什么光泽了。霍妮像只野兔似的睫毛很少，而英迪亚除了用"平淡"一词以外，再没有别的说法可以形容了。

英迪亚的踪影哪里也找不到，但思嘉知道她也许是在厨房里对仆人们作最后的指示。思嘉心想，可怜的英迪亚，自从她母亲去世以后，她得为家务操不少的心呢，因此除了斯图尔特·塔尔顿，便没有机会去交别的男朋友了。而且，如果他觉得我比她长得漂亮，那也不是我的过错呀。

约翰·威尔克斯走下台阶，伸出手臂去搀扶思嘉。她下马车时见苏伦在得意地傻笑，便知道她已经从人丛中找出弗兰克·肯尼迪来了。

我就不信找不到一个比这穿裤子的老处女更好的男人！

她心里轻蔑地嘀咕着，一面跳下地来微笑着向约翰·威尔克斯表示感谢。

弗兰克·肯尼迪赶忙走来搀扶苏伦，苏伦那个得意劲儿更叫思嘉恨不得抽她一鞭子。弗兰克·肯尼迪可能拥有比县里任何人都多的土地，而且可能心地很好，可这些在一个年满４０的人身上是毫无吸引力的，何况他既瘦小又神经质，长着几根稀稀拉拉几根黄胡子，是个婆婆妈妈、唯唯诺诺的人。

不过，思嘉记起了自己的计谋，便打消这种轻蔑心理，反向他飞了个欣然的微笑，这使他不由得一怔，一面向苏伦伸出手臂，一面高兴得不知所措地把两眼睛朝思嘉身上骨碌碌乱转。

思嘉即使在跟约翰·威尔克斯愉快地交谈时，两只眼睛也在人群里搜索艾希礼，可是他不在走廊上。周围是一起欢迎的招呼声，斯图尔特和布伦特·塔尔顿这对孪生兄弟一起向她走来。芒罗家的姑娘们也对她的衣服大声称赞，她很快便成了一个吵吵闹闹的圈子的中心，这些声音越来越高，把整个大厅里的喧哗都压倒了。可是艾希礼在哪里？还有媚兰和查尔斯呢？她装得若无其事地环顾四周，并一直朝大厅那里笑闹的人群中望着。她闲谈着，笑着，迅速向屋子里，庭院里搜索着，忽然发现一个陌生人独自站在大厅里用一种淡漠而不怎么礼貌的神情注视着她，这使她产生了一种复杂的感觉：一面由于自己吸引了一个男人而十分得意，一面又想到自己的衣服领口太低露出了胸脯而有点难为情了。他看来年纪不小，至少有３５岁。他个子高高的，体格很强壮。思嘉心想，还没有见过这样腰圆膀阔、肌肉结实、几乎粗壮得有失体面的男人呢。当她的眼光和那人的眼光接解，他笑了，露出一口狰狞雪白的牙齿，在修剪短短的髭须底下闪闪发光。他的脸膛黑得像个海盗，一双又黑又狠的眼睛仿佛主张把一艘帆船凿沉或抢走一名处女似的。他的脸上表情冷漠而卤莽，连对她微笑时嘴角上也流露出嘲讽的意味，使思嘉紧张得出不来气。她想人家这样无礼地瞧着她简直是一种侮辱，可懊恼自己竟没有受辱的感觉。她不知道这究竟是个什么人，但他黑黑的脸膛无可否认地有着上等人家的血统。两片饱满的红嘴唇上那深长的鹰钩鼻子、高高的前额和宽阔的天庭，都说明了这一点。

她毫无笑容地努力把自己的眼光挪开，同时他也回过头去，因为有人在叫他：“瑞德，瑞德·巴特勒！到这里来！我要你见见佐治亚一个心肠最硬的姑娘。"瑞德·巴特勒？这名字有点耳熟，好像同某个不体面的趣闻有关似的，不过她正一心想着艾希礼，便不去细究了。

“我得上楼去理理头发，"她告诉斯图尔特和布伦特，他们正想把她从人群中带走。"你们俩可得等着我，别跟旁的女孩子跑掉，惹我生气埃"她看得出来，要是她今天跟任何别的人调情，斯图尔特是不会善罢干休的。因为他刚刚喝了几杯，正摆出一副找人打架的神气，她凭经验知道这就要出事了。她在过厅里站下跟朋友们说话，又对英迪亚打招呼，后者正从后屋里出来，已忙得头发不整，两鬓流汗。可怜的英迪亚！一个姑娘长着不灰不白的头发和眼睫毛，以及一个显得性情固执的下巴，这就够糟的了，何况已经２０岁了还没嫁人呢！她不知英迪亚是否怀恨她把斯图尔特从她身边夺走了。有不少的人还在说她仍然爱他，可是你怎么也琢磨不透一个威尔克斯的家人是如何想的。即使她怀恨这件事，他决不会露出痕迹来，仍一如既往地用那种稍觉疏远又颇为亲切的态度对待思嘉。

思嘉愉快地跟她交谈了几句，便走上宽阔的楼梯。这时一个羞答答的声音在后面叫她的名字，她回过头来，看见了查尔斯·汉密尔顿。他是个俊俏的小伙子，满头柔软的褐色鬈发覆盖在白皙的前额上，眼睛也是深褐色的，明亮，温柔，像一只聪敏的长毛牧羊犬。他穿着很合身的裤子和黑色上衣，带皱褶的衬衫领口打着个很宽很时髦的黑领结。她转过身来时，他脸上泛起薄薄的红晕，因为他在女孩子面前总有点怯生生的。像大多数怕羞的男人那样，他非常爱慕思嘉这样快活，开朗而落落大方的姑娘。她以前对他的态度从没有超出敷衍应酬的范围，因此现在她回报他的那灿然一笑和愉快地伸出的两只手，就使他惊喜得透不过起来的。

“怎么，查尔斯·汉密尔顿，你这漂亮的小家伙，是你呀！

我敢说你是专门从亚特兰大老远赶来，这可叫我心疼得不行啊！"查尔斯激动的结结巴巴，几乎说不出话来了。他抓住她那双温暖的小手，痴痴地望着那双滴溜溜转的绿眼睛。姑娘们薀瓦用这种态度跟男孩子说话的，可对查尔斯却从来没有过。他可真不明白为什么她们老是把他当做小弟弟看待，又总是那么亲切，但从来不肯跟他开玩笑。他经常看见姑娘们跟那些比他难看得多和笨得多的男孩子在一起调情说笑，早就巴不得她们也这样跟他闹着玩儿。可是除了偶尔一两次外，他跟她们在一起时往往不知道说什么好，所以总是破口无言，窘困得难受极了。事情过后，他夜里躺在床上睡不着觉时，倒想起许许多多本来可以说的俏皮逗人的话来，可是机会没有了，因为人家姑娘们经过这么一两回试验之后，便把他撂在一边了。

至于霍妮，他同她已经有了默契，准备来年秋天他继承了遗产的时候结婚，可是他跟他在一起时同样也很不自在，没有什么好说的。有时候他有一种不怎么爽快的感觉，觉得霍妮那种有点卖弄风情和自作主张的神气对他很不利，因为她对男孩子有股狂热劲儿，恐怕一有机会她就会随便给哪个男人玩这一套的。所以查尔斯对娶霍妮不怎么热心，因为她没有在他心中那种疯狂的浪漫激情，而那是他心爱的书本告诉他一个恋人所应当有的。他经常渴望着有个美丽、大胆、感情炽热、善于戏谑的女人来爱他。

可如今思嘉·奥哈拉用她所说的对他心疼的话，在跟他开玩笑呢！

他想想出几句话来说说，可是想不出来，接着他便默默祝福思嘉，因为她在一个劲儿地说下去，他也就用不着开口了。这真是做梦也想不到的。

“现在，你就站在这儿，等我回来，到时我跟你一起吃野宴，可不要走开去跟别的女孩子胡闹呀，那样我可要吃醋了！"这些话从那张两旁各有一个酒窝的樱桃小口里说出，同时乌黑的睫毛在碧绿的眼睛上方假装严肃地飞舞着。

“我不会的，"他终于使劲喘过起来，可是决没有想到她是在把他当做一只等待屠夫的小牛犊呢。

她拿那把合着的折扇在他臂膀上轻轻一敲，然后转身上楼，这时她的视线又落到那个名叫瑞德·巴特勒的人身上，他正孤零零地站在离查尔斯几步远的地方。他显然从旁听见了刚才的全部谈话，因为他仰头对思嘉咧嘴笑了笑，那模样邪恶得像只公猫似的，随即又将思嘉浑身上下打量着，眼光中全然没有思嘉所习惯的那种敬意。

“活见鬼！"思嘉用杰拉尔德惯用的那句粗话烦恼地暗思忖说。"他看来好象----好像知道我没穿内衣是模样似的。"接着把头一甩，径自上楼去了。

在放包裹的那间卧室里，她发现凯瑟琳·卡尔弗特正站在镜前打扮，拼命咬着嘴唇，想叫它们显得更红一些。她的饰带上佩着新鲜的玫瑰花，这同她的两颊相到辉映，那双矢车菊般的蓝眼睛更是兴奋得神采飞扬了。

“凯瑟琳，"思嘉说，一面试着把她穿的那件紧身上衣拉高一点，"楼下那个姓巴特勒的讨厌家伙是谁？”“唔，亲爱的，你不知道吗？”凯瑟琳兴奋地低声说，留心不让在隔壁房间闲聊的迪尔茜和威尔克斯家姑娘们的嬷嬷听见。"我真想不到威尔克斯先生怎么会让他到这里来了，不过他本来就在琼斯博罗同肯尼迪先生商谈买棉花的事。当然了，肯尼迪先生要把他带在身边，就一起来了。他不能丢下他就走埃”“他究竟是怎么回事呢？”“人家谁也没有招待过他呢！亲爱的。”“真的没有吗？”“没有。"思嘉默默地寻思这件事，因为她还从不曾跟一个不受招待的人在一起待过呢。这倒是一种很令人兴奋的局面。

“他干过什么事了？”

“唔，他的名声坏极了！思嘉，他叫瑞德·巴特勒，是查尔斯顿人，他的朋友本来都是那里最上等的人，可现在都不理他了。去年夏天卡罗·雷特跟我谈了他的情形。她跟他的家庭并没有亲属关系，可是她了解他的一切，而且谁都了解。

他是从西点军校开除出来的。你想想吧！他还些事情实在太糟糕了，卡罗也不便知道。此外就薀拓于他没有娶那个姑娘的事----”“快告诉我！”“亲爱的，你真的什么也不知道？卡罗去年夏天全都告诉我了，可要是她妈听说她居然知道这种事，恐怕会气得要死呢。唔，这位巴特勒先生带着一个查尔斯顿姑娘坐马车出去玩。我从来不知道她究竟是谁，不过我能猜到一点。她一定不是什么好东西，否则便不会在下午那么晚的时候没个伴就跟他出去了。而且亲爱的，他们在外面几乎待了个通宵，最后才步行回家，据说是马跑了，车也给摔坏了，他们在树林里迷了路。后来你猜怎么样----”“你说吧，我猜不着，"思嘉很热心地说，巴不得发生最糟糕的事。

“第二天他居然拒绝同她结婚！”

“啊，"思嘉的希望破灭了。

“他说他没----嗯----没跟她有过什么，也看不出为什么就该娶她。于是，当然喽，她哥哥把他叫出来，这时巴特勒先生称他宁愿给熗毙也不要娶一个蠢货。这样一来，他们就只有进行决斗，结果巴特勒先生击中了臒兔娘的哥哥，他死了，同时巴特勒先生也只好离开查尔斯顿，可至今没有接待他，"凯瑟琳得意地结束了她的故事，而且很及时，因为这时迪尔茜回到房间照料思嘉梳妆来了。

“她怀孕了没有？"思嘉在凯瑟琳的耳边悄悄地问。

凯瑟琳拼命摇头。"不过她同样给毁了，"她有点厌恶地低声回答。

但愿艾希礼别毁了我才好，思嘉突然这样想。象他这样一个十十足足的正人君子，是决不会不娶我的。可是，不知怎的，她情不自禁增对瑞德·巴特勒产生了一种敬意，因为他拒绝跟一个蠢女人结婚哩。

思嘉坐在屋后那株大橡树树荫下一张高高的木褥榻上，她衣裙上的荷叶边和皱襞向周围荡漾着，底下那双绿羊皮软鞋露出了大约两英寸的样子，这是大家闺秀坐着时双脚所能露出的最大部分。她手里捧着一个几乎没有动过的盘子。

野宴已达到高潮，暖融融的空气中洋溢

着笑声、谈话声、餐具碰着杯盘的叮当声，以及烤肉和稠肉汤的浓烈香味。间或一阵清风吹过，从长长的烤牲火坑向宾客们起来了股股轻烟，小姐太太们假装烦地尖叫起来，一面使劲挥舞手中棕榈叶扇子。

大多数年轻小姐同她们的男伴坐在餐桌两旁长长的条凳上，唯独思嘉，她明白在这种座席上只能两边各坐一个男人，便单单另外挑了个位置，这样她就可以引来尽可能多的男人聚在自己周围了。

已婚妇女，都坐在凉亭里，她们的深色衣裳在周围的欢快色彩中看来更加显眼。主妇们无论年龄大小，常常坐在一起，稍稍离开那些明眸皓齿的小姐、情郎和他们的喧笑声，因为在南方，妇女一结婚就不算美人了。从那位倚老卖老公然在打嗝儿的方丹老太太到初次怀孕正在极力忍住不呕吐出来的１７岁的艾丽斯·芒罗，她们正交头接耳不停地讨论着家庭等方面的问题，这才使得这样的集会更加愉快而富于教育意义了。

思嘉朝她们轻蔑地看了一眼，觉得她们活象一群肥老鸦，已婚妇女从来都是没有什么趣味的。可她就不想想，要是她嫁给了艾希礼，也得自动地跟这些穿深色绸衣的主妇们一起，坐到凉亭下和前屋客厅里去，并且跟她们一样庄重，一样呆板，不再属于那有趣而快活的一群了。原来她像大多数女孩子那样，她的想象力只能把她带到结婚的礼坛上去，不近也不远，到此为止。此外，她现在正觉得十分不幸，没有心思去考虑这种抽象的事。

她垂下眼睛看看手里的盘子，灵巧地拿起一片薄薄的饼干送到嘴边模样是那么文雅，只轻轻咬了一点，要是嬷嬷见了准会大加赞赏的。她尽管周围有了那么多向她献殷勤的小伙子，可是从没像现在这样难受过。她自己也不明白是怎么回事，昨天昨上她想好的那些计划至少在艾希礼身上已经彻底完了。她吸引来几十个旁的男人，偏偏艾希礼没有来。因此昨天下午她所感到的那些恐惧现在又都卷土重来，笼罩在她身上了，使她的心脏时紧时慢地跳得很不正常，脸色也红一阵白一阵，难看得很。

艾希礼不想加入她周围的那个圈子，实际上她来到以后还没有单独跟他说过一句话，甚至自从见面时打了个招呼便再没有机会对他说话了。当她走进后花园时，他上前来欢迎过她，但当时媚兰正挽着他的胳膊----她几乎还没有他的肩膀高呢。

媚兰是个娇小脆弱的姑娘，从外表看就像个躲在母亲裙子里玩耍的孩子，加上她那双褐色大眼睛流露的怕羞到几乎惊恐的神色，就更加给人以这样的印象了。她长着一头稠密乌黑的鬈发，上面严严地罩着发网，显得一丝不乱。这黑的一大堆前面挂着个长长的寡妇嘴刘海儿，使得她的脸蛋完全变成了鸡心形。由于两个颧骨隔得太远，下巴太尖，那张脸虽然娇怯可人，但仍显平淡。她长得像----而且就是----泥土一样简单，面包一样可贵，春水一样清澈。不过，无论她的相貌多么平淡，身佬多么娇小，她的举止行动中仍包含着一种沉静而非常动人的庄重美，这使她看起来远不象一个１７岁的大姑娘。

她穿一件灰色细棉布衣裳，上面配有樱桃色缎带，裙裾荡漾，皱襞粼粼，似在掩饰那个如孩子般尚未充分发育的身躯，而那顶垂着鲜红的细长饰带的黄帽子，则使她的奶油色皮肤更加光莹夺目了。她那对沉甸甸的耳坠子吊在长长的金链上，从整整齐齐网着的鬈发中垂下来，在褐色眼睛近旁摆荡着，这对眼睛象冬天树林中波光皎洁的湖水，两片褐色的叶子从宁静的湖水中闪映出来。

她用怯生生的喜悦心情微笑着欢迎思嘉，称赞她那件绿色衣裳多么漂亮，这时思嘉很不好意思，几乎装出一副礼貌的笑容来回答，因为她那么迫切地想同艾希礼单独谈话！从那以后，艾希礼就离开宾客坐在媚兰脚边一只小凳上，同她悄悄地谈着，悠闲而睡眼朦胧地微笑着，这样的微笑正是思嘉最心爱不过的。更糟糕的是在他的微笑下媚兰眼中焕发着一闪一闪的光辉，以致连想思嘉也不得不承认她几乎是美丽的了。媚兰望着艾希礼时，她那平淡的脸上仿佛被一支内心的火焰照耀得容光焕发，因为只要一颗热恋的心能够在脸上显现，那么现在媚兰脸上显现的正是这样的一颗心。

思嘉想把目光从这两个人身上挪开，不再看他们，可就是办不到，而且每看一眼就得从她周围的人们身上找到加倍的欢乐，跟他们一起笑着，谈着冒失的事情，挑逗他们，对他们的奉承话拼命摇头，摇得那双耳坠狂跳不止。她说了好几遍"胡说八道"，声明真理不在他们任何一个人身上，并且发誓永远不相信他们任何人说的任何事情。可是艾希礼好像根本没有注意到她。他只一味地仰望着媚兰不停地说下去，同时媚兰俯视着他，她脸上的表情明明显示出她是属于他的。

这样，思嘉便觉得难堪极了。

在局外人看来，她是比谁也更没有理由觉得难堪的。她无疑是这次野宴上的美人，是大家注意的中心。她正在男人们中间激起的那阵狂热，加上其他姑娘们心中的妒火，在任何别的时候都会叫她心满意足了。

由于受到她的青睐查尔斯·汉密尔顿，仍牢牢地站在她右边，任凭塔尔顿家的孪生兄弟合力挤他也不挪动一步。他一只手拿着她的扉子，另一只手端着自己那盘连碰也没碰的烤肉，固执地不去跟霍妮的眼光接角，这叫霍妮伤心得快要哭了。她左边的凯德懒洋洋地待在那里，他不时拉拉她的衣角让她注意，同时用一双怒气冲冲的眼睛瞪着斯图尔特。他和这对孪生兄弟之间的敌对气氛已达到了一触即发的程度，并且已开始斗起嘴来。弗兰克·肯尼迪象只带小鸡的母鸡在瞎忙着，到橡树树荫下的餐桌旁来回奔跑，替思嘉挑拣好吃的东西，仿佛那儿的十几个仆人都不中用似的。最后，苏伦已实在按捺不住满腔愤，便冲出大家闺秀的忍让范围，公然向思嘉怒目而视。小卡琳也早就想哭的，因为尽管思嘉讲了不少鼓励的话，可布伦特只对她说了声"好啊，小妹"，同时拨了拨她头上的发带便转身去全心全意奉承思嘉了。他往常总是那么亲切，用一种出于自然的敬重态度对待她，让她感到自己已经是个大人，便暗暗梦想有一天她将绾起发髻，放下裙裾，把他当作一个真正的情人来接待。可现在看来，思嘉已经把他捞到手了！至于芒罗家的几位姑娘，她们眼看方丹家那些黑皮肤小伙子已公然背叛他们，可是仍极力掩饰着心头的懊恼，不过当托尼和亚历克斯站在圈子外面等着觑着，随时准备只要有人站起来俩立即他占一个靠近思嘉的位置，那副讨厌相就叫她们忍无可忍了。

她们用扬起眉头的方式将自己对思嘉行为的反感微妙地传递给赫蒂·塔尔顿。对于思嘉来说，惟一的要诀是"快"。

这时，那三个年轻姑娘不约而同地举起花边阳伞，说她们已经吃够了，谢谢，一面用手指轻轻扶着身边男人的胳膊，娇声笑嚷着到玫瑰园、清泉和夏季别野参观去了。这种有秩序的战略性撤退对于一个在场的女人是不会不产生效果的，可男人就看不出来。

思嘉看见那三个男人被拉出了她的魅力圈，跟着女孩子们到她们从小便熟悉的名胜地观光去了，便格格地笑起来，同时狠狠盯住艾希礼，看他是否注意到这件事。可是他正在玩媚兰的那条缎带，一面微笑着望着她。思嘉感到揪心般一阵剧痛。她恨不得立刻跑过去将媚兰的乳白色皮肤狠狠地抓呀，挠呀，直到鲜红淋漓才痛快哩。

她的眼光从媚兰身上移开，便看见了瑞德·巴特勒，他已跟众人厮混在一起，可是仍站在一旁同约翰·威尔克斯交谈。他一直在观察她，但一旦接触到她的眼光便笑起来。思嘉感到很不自在，觉得这个不受招待的男人是在场惟一知道她那狂欢背后隐藏着什么心事的人，而且这只能给他以讥讽的乐趣。那么，她也可以抓他其他来取乐呀！

“只要我能够熬过这个野宴，一直坚持到午后，"她想，"所有的女孩子便会上楼去午睡，准备精神饱满地参加晚上的舞会，那时我要留在楼下找机会跟艾希礼说话。他一定已经注意到我是多么受人爱慕了。"接着，她又自我宽慰地作出了另一种推测：“当然喽，他必须照顾媚兰，因为她毕竟是他的表妹，而且又一点不引人注目，如果他不那么关照她，她简直就要做无人问津的'墙花'了。"想到这里，她重新鼓起了勇起，并且对查尔斯加倍下功夫，这时他那双褐色眼睛正炽热地俯视着她。对于查尔斯来说，这真是绝妙的一天，美梦般的一天，他已经毫不费力同思嘉恋爱起来。由于这种新的感情的冲击，霍妮在他心中的形象便暗淡无光了。霍妮是一只尖叫的麻雀，而思嘉则是只闪烁的蜂鸟。她逗弄他，疼爱他，向他提问题，然后又自己回答，这样他毋需开口便显得非常聪明。别的小伙子显然被她对查尔斯的这种偏爱所激怒，而且给弄得糊里糊涂，因为他们知道查尔斯为人那么羞怯，一口气说不出两个字、一句的话来，可是出于礼貌，他们不得不强压着心头的怒火。谁都敢怒而不敢言，这对思嘉是个很大的胜利，可在艾希礼身上却是例外。

最后一叉子猪肉、鸡肉、羊肉都吃完了，思嘉希望时机已经来到，英迪亚会起身建议小姐们进屋去休息。这时是下午两点，太阳直照头顶，有点炎热，可是英迪亚由于准备野宴接连忙了三天，实在太劳累了，便乐得留下来坐在凉亭里歇一会，一面朝那位来自费耶特维尔的聋老头儿高声说话。

一阵懒洋洋的睡意向人群袭来。黑人们慢悠悠地收拾长桌上的残羹剩菜。谈笑声渐渐低沉，这里、那里三五成群的人也开始静默。大家都在等待女主人来宣布结束于前的野宴活动。棕榈扇子摇得愈来愈慢，有些先生由于炎热和吃得过饮，已经打起瞌睡来。大野宴已经结束，所以的人都要趁太阳正旺的时刻休息一下了。

在午宴和昨会之间这段空隙中，人们都显得安静而平和，只有年轻小伙子们仍保持着不甘寂寞的精力，正是这种精力使刚才整个娶会充满了生机。他们从一群人到另一群人不断走动，慢吞吞地低声谈论着，漂亮得像些纯种马驹，也同样地危险。中午懒洋洋的气氛笼罩了整个聚会，可是在它下面潜伏着一些暴躁因素，它们可能突然爆发，上升到凶残的顶点，并且迅速蔓延，成为燎原之势，男人和女人，他们既是美丽的，又是放荡的，那可爱的外表下面都有一点火爆性，其中已经驯服了的只是很小一部而已。

过了一会，太阳越发热了，思嘉和其他人又朝英迪亚看了看。谈话已渐渐沉寂，这时从林里所有的人都忽然听到了杰拉尔德的激昂的声调。原来他站在距离野宴席不远的地方，同约翰·威尔克斯争论是正起劲呢。

“真是活见鬼，你这人哪！祈求跟北方佬和平解决吗？咱们已经在萨姆特要塞向那些流氓开火了！还能和平？南方应当以武力表明它不能让人侮辱，并且它不是凭联邦的仁慈而是凭着自己的力量在脱离联邦！”“哦，他又喝够了！我的上帝！”思嘉心想。"这想，我们都得在这里坐到半夜去了。"顷刻之间，瞌睡从懒洋洋的人群中逃之夭夭，一种像电流般敏感的东西迅速掠过周围。男人从条凳和椅子上跳起来，挥动着两臂，拼命提高嗓门，同时一心想压倒别人的声音。本来整个上午都没有谈起政治和平在眉睫的战争，因为威尔克斯先生要求大家不要去打扰那些太太小姐。如今杰拉尔德吼出"萨姆特要塞"这几个字来了，在场的每一个便都忘记了主人的告诫。

“咱们当然要打----”“北方佬是贼----”“咱们一个月就能把他们报销----”“是啊，一个南方人能打掉２０个北方佬----”“给他们一次教训，叫他们不要很快就忘了--- -”“不，你看林肯先生怎么侮辱咱们的委员吧！”“是啊，跟他们敷衍几个礼拜----还发誓一定得撤出萨姆特呢！”“他们要战争，咱们就让他们厌恶战急----"在所有这些声音之上，杰拉尔德的嗓门在隆隆震响，但思嘉能够听到的全是”州权、州权"的反复叫喊。杰拉尔德真是得意极了，可他的女儿并不得意。

脱离联邦，战争----这些字眼由于长期以来不断重复，思嘉已觉得十分刺耳，不过现在她更恨这些声音，因为它们意味着那些男人将站在那里激烈地争论好几个小时，而她就没有机会去单独见艾希礼了。当然，大家心里都清楚，实际上不会发生战争，他们只不过喜欢谈论，同时喜欢听自己谈论。

查尔斯·汉密尔顿没有跟着别人站起来，而且发现思嘉身边人已经很少了，他便挨得更近一些，沿着臒蜕从新爱情中产生的勇气，低声表白起来。

“奥哈拉小姐----我----我----已经决定，如果战争打起来，我要到南卡罗来纳去加入那边的军队。据说韦德·汉普顿先生正在那里组织一支骑兵，我当然愿意去跟他在一起。他为人很好，还是我父亲最要好的朋友呢。"思嘉想，"这叫我怎么办呢----给他喝三声彩吗？”因为查尔斯的自白表明他是在向她袒露内心的秘密。她想不出说什么话来好，只好默默地看了看他，觉得男人真笨，他们还以为女人对这种事感兴趣呢！他把她的这种表情看做是又惊慌又嘉许之意，于是索性大胆而迅速地说下去----“要是我走了，你会----你会感到难过吗，奥哈拉小姐？”“我会每天晚上偷偷哭泣的，"思嘉这样说，听那口气显然是在开玩笑，可是他只从字面上理解，便一阵仍红乐得不行了。她的一只手本来藏在衣服的皱褶里，这时他故意把自己的的轻轻探进去碰它，后来索性紧紧握住了，连他自己都不明白哪来这么大的勇气，也不知道她怎的就默许了，因此感到愕然。

“你会为我祈祷吗？”

“瞧你这个傻瓜！"思嘉刻薄地想道，一面偷偷向周围看了一眼，希望能找机会回避这种对话。

“你会吗？”

“唔----会，真的，汉密尔顿先生。每晚祈祷三轮念珠，至少！"查尔斯迅速看了看周围，憋着肚子，屏住气。实际上他们是单独在一起了，真是千载难逢的机会。而且，即使再一次遇到这样的天赐良机，他的勇气也许要不济事呢！

“奥哈拉小姐----我要告诉你一件事。我----我爱你！”“嗯？"思嘉心不在焉地说，一面将眼光穿过正辩论的人群朝艾希礼仍坐在媚兰脚边谈话的那个地方望去。

“真的！"查尔斯低声说，由于她既没有笑也没有惊叫或晕倒而高兴得不行了，因为按照他平时所想象的，年轻姑娘们在这种场合必然会那样的。"我爱你！你是世界上最----最- ---"这时他才有生以来头一次打到自己的舌头了，"我所认识的最美丽的姑娘和最可爱亲切的人，而且你有最高贵的风高，我以我的整个心灵爱着你。我不能指望你会爱一个象我这样的人，但是，我亲爱的奥哈拉小姐，只要你能给我一点点鼓励，我愿意做世界上任何的事情来使你爱我。我愿意----"查尔斯停住了，因为他想不出一桩足以向思嘉证实自己爱情深度的困难行动来，于是他只好简单地说：“我要跟你结婚。"思嘉听到"结婚"这个字眼，便猛地从幻想中回到现实里来。她刚才正在梦想结婚，梦想着艾希礼呢，如今只好用一种很难掩盖得住的懊恼神色望着查尔斯发怔了。怎么恰好在今天，她苦恼得几乎要发狂的时候，这个像牛犊似的傻瓜偏偏要来把自己的感情强加于人呢？思嘉注视着那双祈求的褐色的眼睛，可是看不出一个羞怯男孩的初恋的美，看不出那种对于一个已经实现的理想的的祟拜之情，或者像火焰般烧透他整个身心的那种狂喜和亲切的感觉。思嘉已经见惯了向她求婚的男子，一些比查尔斯·汉密尔顿诱人得多的男子，他们也比他灵巧得多，决不会在一次野晏上当她心中有更得要的事情在考虑时提出这种问题的。她只看到一个２０岁的、红得像胡萝卜，有点傻里傻气的男孩子。她但愿自己能够告诉他，说他显得多么傻气。不过，母亲教导她在这种场合应当说的那些话自然而然溜到了嘴边，于是她出于长期养成的习惯，把眼睛默默地向下望，然后低声说：“汉密尔顿先生，我明白了你的好意，要我做你的妻子，这使我感到荣幸，不过这来得太突然了，我不知道说什么好呢。"这是一种干净利落手法，既可以安抚一个男人的虚荣心，又可以继续向他垂钓，所以查尔斯便高高兴兴地游上来了，他还经为这钓饵很新鲜，自己又是第一个来咬的呢。

“我会永远等待！除非你完全拿定了主意，我是不会强求的。请你说我可以抱这种希望吧！奥哈拉小姐。”“唔！"思嘉漫不经心地应着，那双尖利的眼睛继续盯住艾希礼，他仍在望着媚兰微笑。没有参加关于战争的议论。要是查尔斯这个在一味央求她的傻瓜能安静一会儿，说不定她能听清楚他们的话呢。她必须听清楚。究竟媚兰说了些什么，才使他眼睛里流露出那么趣味盎然的神色来呀？

查尔斯的话把她正在聚精会神地谛听着的声音搅和了。

“唔，别响！"她轻轻说，连看也不看他，在他手下拧了一下。

查尔斯吓了一跳，先是觉得惭愧，因思嘉的斥责而满脸通红，接着看到思嘉的眼睛紧盯在他妹妹身上，便微笑了。思嘉恐怕别有人会听见他的话。她自然觉得不好意思，有点害羞，更担心的是可能人在偷听。倒是查尔斯心中涌起了一种从未体验过的男性刚强感，因为这是他平生第一次让一个女孩感到难为情呢。他心头的震憾的令人陶醉的。他改变了自己的表情，显出一副自以为毫不介意的样子，同时故意在思嘉手上拧了一下作为回报，表示他是个堂堂的男子汉，懂得而且接受她的责备了。

她甚至没有发觉他在拧她，因为这时她能清楚地听见作为媚兰主要迷人之处的那个嫡滴滴的声音了：“我恐怕难以同意你对于萨克雷先生作品的意见。他是个愤世嫉俗的人。我想他不是狄更斯先生那样的绅士。"思嘉这样想，对一个男人说这种话有多傻呀！她心里顿感轻松，几乎要格格笑起来。原来，她不过是个女学生罢了，可谁都知道男人们是怎样看待女学究的……要使男人感兴趣并抓住他的兴趣，最好的办法是拿他做谈话的中心，然后渐渐把话题引到你身上来，并且保持下去。如果媚兰原来是这么说的：“你多么了不起呀"或者"你怎么会想起这样的事情来呢？可是我只要一想到它他就小脑袋瓜都要炸了！"那么思嘉就会有理由感到恐惧。但是她呢，面对脚边的一个男人，自己却像在教堂里似的一本正要地谈起来了。这时思嘉的前景已显得更加明朗，事实上已明朗得叫她回过头来，用纯粹出于喜悦的心情向查尔斯嫣然一笑，查尔斯以为这是她的爱情明证，便乐得忘乎所以地将她的扇子夺过来使劲挥打，以致把她的头发都扇得凌乱不堪了。

“你可没有发表意见支持我们呀，艾希礼。"吉姆·塔尔顿从那群叫嚷的男人中回过头来说。这时艾希礼只得表示歉意，并且站起身来。再也找不到像他这样漂亮的人了！----思嘉注意到他从容不迫的样子多么优雅，他那金色的头发和髭须阳光下多么辉丽，便在心中暗暗赞美。接着，甚至那些年长些的人也要安静下来听他的意见了。

“先生们，怎么，如果佐治亚要打，我就跟它一起去。不然的话，我为什么要进军营呢？"他说着，一双灰眼睛睁得大大的，平时含着几分朦胧欲睡的神色已经在思嘉从未见过的强烈表情中消失了。"但是，跟上帝一样，我希望北方佬将让我们获得和气，不至于发生战争----"这时从方丹家和塔尔顿家的小伙子们中爆发出一阵嘈杂的声音，他便微笑着举起手来继续说：“是的，是的，我知道我们是被欺骗了，受侮辱了，但是如果我们处在北方佬的地位，是他们要脱离联邦，那我们会怎么办呢？大概也是一样吧。我们也是不会答应的。”“他又来了，"思嘉想。”总是设身处地替人家的说话。"据她看来，任何一次辩论中都只能有一方是对的。有时候艾希礼简直就不可理解。

“世界上的苦难大多是由战争引起的。我们还是不要头脑太热，还是不要打起来的好。等到战争一结束，谁也不知道那究竟是怎么回事了。"思嘉听了嗤之以鼻。艾希礼幸而在勇气这一点上没有什么可指责的，否则便麻烦了。她这样想过，艾希礼周围已爆发出一起表示强烈抗议和愤慨的大声叫嚷了。

这时在凉亭里，那位来自耶特维尔的聋老头儿也在大声向英迪亚发问。

“这究竟是怎么回事呀？他们在说什么？”“战争！"英迪亚用手拢住他的耳背大声喊道。

“战争，是吗？”他边嚷边摸索身边的手杖，同时从椅子里挺身站起来，显示出已多年没有过的臒蜕劲头。"我要告诉他们战争是什么样的，我打过呢。"原来麦克雷先生很少有机会那种为妇女们所不允许的方式来谈战争呢。

他急忙踉跄着走向人群，一路上挥着手杖叫嚷着；因为他听不见周围的声音，便很快无可争辩地把讲坛占领了。

“听我说。你们这班火爆性子的哥儿们，你们别想打仗吧。

我打过，也很清楚，我先是参加了塞米诺尔战争，后来又当大傻瓜参加墨西哥战争。你们全都不明白战争是怎么回事。你们以为那是骑着一匹漂亮的马驹子，让姑娘们向你抛掷鲜花，然后作为英雄凯旋回家吧。噢，不是这样。不，先生，那是挨饿，是因为睡在湿地下而出疹子，得肺炎。要不是疹子和肺炎，就是拉痢疾。是的，先生，这便是战争对待人类肠胃的办法----痢疾之类----"小姐太太们听得有点脸红了。麦克雷先生让人们记起一个更为粗野的时代，像方丹奶奶和她的令人难为情地大声打的嗝儿那样，而那个时代是人人都想忘掉了。

“快去把你爷爷拉过来，"这位老先生的一个闺女轻轻对站在旁边的小女孩说。接着她又向周围那些局促不安的夫妇们低声嘟囔：“我说呢，他就是一天比一天不行了。你们相信吗，今天早晨他还跟玛丽说----她才１６岁呢----'来吧，姑娘。……'"这以后声音便成了耳语听不清了，这时那位小孙女正溜出去，想把麦克雷先生拉回到树荫下去坐下。

姑娘们兴奋地微笑着，男人们在热烈地争论，所有的人都在树下乱转，他们中间只有一个人显得很平静，那就是瑞德·巴特勒。思嘉的视线落到他身上，他靠着大树站在那儿，双手插在裤兜里。因为威尔克斯离开了他，他便独自站着，眼看大家谈得越来越热火，也不发一言。他那两片红红的嘴唇在修剪得很短的黑髭须底下往下弯着，一双黑溜溜的眼睛闪烁着取乐和轻蔑的光芒----这种轻蔑就像是在听小孩子争吵似的。多么令人不快的微笑呀，思嘉心想。他静静地听着，直到斯图尔特·塔尔顿抖着满头红发、瞪着一双火爆眼睛又一次重申：“怎么，我们只消一个月就能干掉他们！绅士们总是会战胜暴徒的。一个月----喏，一个战役----”“先生们，"瑞德·巴特勒用一种查尔斯顿人的死板而慢悠悠的声调说，仍然靠大树站在那儿，两手照旧插在裤兜里，"让我说一句好吗？”他的态度也像他的眼睛那样流露着轻蔑的神情，这种轻蔑带有过分客气的味道，这就使那些先生们自己的态度显得滑稽可笑了。

人群向他转过身来，并且给他以一个局外人总该受到的礼遇。

“你们有没有人想过，先生们，在梅森一狄克林线以南没有一家大炮工厂？有没有想过，在南方，铸铁厂那么少？或者木材厂、棉纺厂和制革厂？你们是否想过我们连一艘战舰也没有，而北方佬能够在一星期之内把我们的港口封锁起来，使我们无法把棉花远销到国外去？不过----当然啦----先生们是想到了这些情况的。”“怎么，他把这些小伙子们都看成傻瓜了！"思嘉大恶地想道，气得脸都红了。

显然，当时产生这种想法的人并不只她一个，因为有好几个男孩子已翘起下巴，显得很不服气。约翰·威尔克斯看似无意但却迅速地回到了发言人旁边的位置上，仿佛是想向所有在场的人着重指出这个人是他的座上客，并且提醒他们这里还有女宾呢。

“我们大多数南方人的麻烦是，我们既没有多到外面去走走，也没有从旅行中汲取足够的知识。好在，当然喽，诸位先生都薀瓦于旅游的。不过，你们看到了些什么呢？欧洲、纽约和费城，当然女士们还到过萨拉托加。"（他向凉亭里的那一群微微鞠躬）"你们看见旅馆、博物馆、舞会和赌常然后你们回来，相信世界上再没有像南部这样好地方了。"他露出一口白牙笑了笑，仿佛知道所有在场的人都明白他不再住在查尔斯顿的理由，但即使明白了他也毫不在乎。"我见过许多你们没有见过的东西。成千上万为了吃的和几个美元而乐意替北方佬打仗的外国移民、工人、铸铁厂、造船厂、铁矿和煤矿----一切我们所没有的东西。怎么，我们有的只是棉花、奴隶和傲慢。他们会在一个月内把我们干掉。"接着是一个紧张的片刻，全场沉默。瑞德·巴特勒从上衣口袋里掏出一块精美的亚麻布手绢，悠闲自在地掸了掸衣袖上的灰尘。这时人群中发出一阵不祥的低语声，同时从凉亭里传来了像刚刚被惊忧的一窝蜂发出的那种嗡嗡声。思嘉虽然感到臒蜕愤怒的热血仍在自己脸上发胀，可是她心里却有某种无名的意识引起她思索，她觉得这个人所说的话毕竟是有道理，听起来就像是常识那样。不是吗，她还从来没见过一个工厂，也不曾认识一个见过工厂的人呢。然而，尽管这是事实，可他到底不是个宜于发表这种谈话的上等人，何况是在谁都高高兴兴的聚会上呢。

斯图尔特·塔尔顿蹙着眉头走上前来，后面紧跟着布伦特。当然，塔尔顿家这对孪生兄弟是颇有礼貌的，尽管自己实在被激怒了。他们也不想在一次大野宴上闹起来，女士们也全都一样，她们兴奋而愉快，因为很少看见这样争吵的场面。她们通常只能从一个三传手那里听到这种事呢。

“先生，"斯图尔特气冲冲地说，"你这是什么意思？"瑞德用客气而略带嘲笑的眼光瞧着他。

“我的意思是，"他答道，"像拿破仑----你大概听说过他的名字吧？----像拿破仑有一次说的，'上帝站在最强的军队一边！'"接着他向约翰·威尔克斯转过身去，用客气而真诚的态度说：“你答应过让我看看你的藏书室，先生。能不能允许我现在就去看看？我怕我必须在下午早一点的时候回琼斯博罗去，那边有点小事要办。"他又转过身来面对人群，喀嚓一声并扰脚跟，像个舞蹈师那样鞠了一躬，这一躬对于一个像他这样气宇轩昂的人来说显得很是得体，同时又相当卤莽，像迎面抽了一鞭子似的。

然后他同约翰·威尔克斯横过草地，那黑发蓬松的头昂然高举，一路上发出的令人不舒服的笑声随风飘回来，落到餐桌周围的人群里。

人群像吓了一跳似的沉默了好一会，然后才再一次爆发出嗡嗡的议论声。凉亭里的英迪亚从座位上疲惫地站起身来，向怒气冲冲的斯图尔特走去。思嘉听不见她说些什么，但是从她仰望斯图尔特面孔的眼神中流露出一种像是良心谴责的意味。媚兰正是用这种表示自己属于对方的眼光看艾希礼的，只不过斯图尔特没有发觉就是了。所以说，英迪亚真的在爱他呢。思嘉这时想起，如果在�

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[table=80%,#ffffff,#ffc000,2][tr][td] CHAPTER VI

THEY CROSSED the river and the carriage mounted the hill. Even before Twelve Oaks came into view Scarlett saw a haze of smoke hanging lazily in the tops of the tall trees and smelled the mingled savory odors of burning hickory logs and roasting pork and mutton.

The barbecue pits, which had been slowly burning since last night, would now be long troughs of rose-red embers, with the meats turning on spits above them and the juices trickling down and hissing into the coals. Scarlett knew that the fragrance carried on the faint breeze came from the grove of great oaks in the rear of the big house. John Wilkes always held his barbecues there, on the gentle slope leading down to the rose garden, a pleasant shady place and a far pleasanter place, for instance, than that used by the Calverts. Mrs. Calvert did not like barbecue food and declared that the smells remained in the house for days, so her guests always sweltered on a flat unshaded spot a quarter of a mile from the house. But John Wilkes, famed throughout the state for his hospitality, really knew how to give a barbecue.

The long trestled picnic tables, covered with the finest of the Wilkeses’ linen, always stood under the thickest shade, with backless benches on either side; and chairs, hassocks and cushions from the house were scattered about the glade for those who did not fancy the benches. At a distance great enough to keep the smoke away from the guests were the long pits where the meats cooked and the huge iron wash-pots from which the succulent odors of barbecue sauce and Brunswick stew floated. Mr. Wilkes always had at least a dozen darkies busy running back and forth with trays to serve the guests. Over behind the barns there was always another barbecue pit, where the house servants and the coachmen and maids of the guests had their own feast of hoecakes and yams and chitterlings, that dish of hog entrails so dear to negro hearts, and, in season, watermelons enough to satiate.

As the smell of crisp fresh pork came to her, Scarlett wrinkled her nose appreciatively, hoping that by the time it was cooked she would feel some appetite. As it was, she was so full of food and so tightly laced that she feared every moment she was going to belch. That would be fatal, as only old men and very old ladies could belch without fear of social disapproval.

They topped the rise and the white house reared its perfect symmetry before her, tall of columns, wide of verandas, flat of roof, beautiful as a woman is beautiful who is so sure of her charm that she can be generous and gracious to all. Scarlett loved Twelve Oaks even more than Tara, for it had a stately beauty, a mellowed dignity that Gerald’s house did not possess.

The wide curving driveway was full of saddle horses and carriages and guests alighting and calling greetings to friends. Grinning negroes, excited as always at a party, were leading the animals to the barnyard to be unharnessed and unsaddled for the day. Swarms of children, black and white, ran yelling about the newly green lawn, playing hopscotch and tag and boasting how much they were going to eat. The wide hall which ran from front to back of the house was swarming with people, and as the O’Hara carriage drew up at the front steps, Scarlett saw girls in crinolines, bright as butterflies, going up and coming down the stairs from the second floor, arms about each other’s waists, stopping to lean over the delicate handrail of the banisters, laughing and calling to young men in the hall below them.

Through the open French windows, she caught glimpses of the older women seated in the drawing room, sedate in dark silks as they sat fanning themselves and talking of babies and sicknesses and who had married whom and why. The Wilkes butler, Tom, was hurrying through the halls, a silver tray in his hands, bowing and grinning, as he offered tall glasses to young men in fawn and gray trousers and fine ruffled linen shirts.

The sunny front veranda was thronged with guests. Yes, the whole County was here, thought Scarlett. The four Tarleton boys and their father leaned against the tall columns, the twins, Stuart and Brent, side by side inseparable as usual, Boyd and Tom with their father, James Tarleton. Mr. Calvert was standing close by the side of his Yankee wife, who even after fifteen years in Georgia never seemed to quite belong anywhere. Everyone was very polite and kind to her because he felt sorry for her, but no one could forget that she had compounded her initial error of birth by being the governess of Mr. Calvert’s children. The two Calvert boys, Raiford and Cade, were there with their dashing blonde sister, Cathleen, teasing the dark-faced Joe Fontaine and Sally Munroe, his pretty bride-to-be. Alex and Tony Fontaine were whispering in the ears of Dimity Munroe and sending her into gales of giggles. There were families from as far as Lovejoy, ten miles away, and from Fayetteville and Jonesboro, a few even from Atlanta and Macon. The house seemed bursting with the crowd, and a ceaseless babble of talking and laughter and giggles and shrill feminine squeaks and screams rose and fell.

On the porch steps stood John Wilkes, silver-haired, erect, radiating the quiet charm and hospitality that was as warm and never failing as the sun of Georgia summer. Beside him Honey Wilkes, so called because she indiscriminately addressed everyone from her father to the field hands by that endearment, fidgeted and giggled as she called greetings to the arriving guests.

Honey’s nervously obvious desire to be attractive to every man in sight contrasted sharply with her father’s poise, and Scarlett had the thought that perhaps there was something in what Mrs. Tarleton said, after all. Certainly the Wilkes men got the family looks. The thick deep-gold lashes that set off the gray eyes of John Wilkes and Ashley were sparse and colorless in the faces of Honey and her sister India. Honey had the odd lashless look of a rabbit, and India could be described by no other word than plain.

India was nowhere to be seen, but Scarlett knew she probably was in the kitchen giving final instructions to the servants. Poor India, thought Scarlett, she’s had so much trouble keeping house since her mother died that she’s never had the chance to catch any beau except Stuart Tarleton, and it certainly wasn’t my fault if he thought I was prettier than she.

John Wilkes came down the steps to offer his arm to Scarlett. As she descended from the carriage, she saw Suellen smirk and knew that she must have picked out Frank Kennedy in the crowd.

If I couldn’t catch a better beau than that old maid in britches! she thought contemptuously, as she stepped to the ground and smiled her thanks to John Wilkes.

Frank Kennedy was hurrying to the carriage to assist Suellen, and Suellen was bridling in a way that made Scarlett want to slap her. Frank Kennedy might own more land than anyone in the County and he might have a very kind heart, but these things counted for nothing against the fact that he was forty, slight and nervous and had a thin ginger-colored beard and an old-maidish, fussy way about him. However, remembering her plan, Scarlett smothered her contempt and cast such a flashing smile of greeting at him that he stopped short, his arm outheld to Suellen and goggled at Scarlett in pleased bewilderment.

Scarlett’s eyes searched the crowd for Ashley, even while she made pleasant small talk with John Wilkes, but he was not on the porch. There were cries of greeting from a dozen voices and Stuart and Brent Tarleton moved toward her. The Munroe girls rushed up to exclaim over her dress, and she was speedily the center of a circle of voices that rose higher and higher in efforts to be heard above the din. But where was Ashley? And Melanie and Charles? She tried not to be obvious as she looked about and peered down the hall into the laughing group inside.

As she chattered and laughed and cast quick glances into the house and the yard, her eyes fell on a stranger, standing alone in the hall, staring at her in a cool impertinent way that brought her up sharply with a mingled feeling of feminine pleasure that she had attracted a man and an embarrassed sensation that her dress was too low in the bosom. He looked quite old, at least thirty-five. He was a tall man and powerfully built. Scarlett thought she had never seen a man with such wide shoulders, so heavy with muscles, almost too heavy for gentility. When her eye caught his, he smiled, showing animal-white teeth below a close-clipped black mustache. He was dark of face, swarthy as a pirate, and his eyes were as bold and black as any pirate’s appraising a galleon to be scuttled or a maiden to be ravished. There was a cool recklessness in his face and a cynical humor in his mouth as he smiled at her, and Scarlett caught her breath. She felt that she should be insulted by such a look and was annoyed with herself because she did not feel insulted. She did not know who he could be, but there was undeniably a look of good blood in his dark face. It showed in the thin hawk nose over the full red lips, the high forehead and the wide-set eyes.

She dragged her eyes away from his without smiling back, and he turned as someone called: “Rhett! Rhett Butler! Come here! I want you to meet the most hard-hearted girl in Georgia.”

Rhett Butler? The name had a familiar sound, somehow connected with something pleasantly scandalous, but her mind was on Ashley and she dismissed the thought.

“I must run upstairs and smooth my hair,” she told Stuart and Brent, who were trying to get her cornered from the crowd. “You boys wait for me and don’t run off with any other girl or I’ll be furious.”

She could see that Stuart was going to be difficult to handle today if she flirted with anyone else. He had been drinking and wore the arrogant looking-for-a-fight expression that she knew from experience meant trouble. She paused in the hall to speak to friends and to greet India who was emerging from the back of the house, her hair untidy and tiny beads of perspiration on her forehead. Poor India! It would be bad enough to have pale hair and eyelashes and a hitting chin that meant a stubborn disposition, without being twenty years old and an old maid in the bargain. She wondered if India resented very much her taking Stuart away from her. Lots of people said she was still in love with him, but then you could never tell what a Wilkes was thinking about. If she did resent it, she never gave any sign of it, treating Scarlett with the same slightly aloof, kindly courtesy she had always shown her.

Scarlett spoke pleasantly to her and started up the wide stairs. As she did, a shy voice behind her called her name and, turning, she saw Charles Hamilton. He was a nice-looking boy with a riot of soft brown curls on his white forehead and eyes as deep brown, as clean and as gentle as a collie dog’s. He was well turned out in mustard-colored trousers and black coat and his pleated shirt was topped by the widest and most fashionable of black cravats. A faint blush was creeping over his face as she turned, for he was timid with girls. Like most shy men he greatly admired airy, vivacious, always-at-ease girls like Scarlett. She had never given him more than perfunctory courtesy before, and so the beaming smile of pleasure with which she greeted him and the two hands outstretched to his almost took his breath away.

“Why Charles Hamilton, you handsome old thing, you! I’ll bet you came all the way down here from Atlanta just to break my poor heart!”

Charles almost stuttered with excitement, holding her warm little hands in his and looking into the dancing green eyes. This was the way girls talked to other boys but never to him. He never knew why but girls always treated him like a younger brother and were very kind, but never bothered to tease him. He had always wanted girls to flirt end frolic with him as they did with boys much less handsome and less endowed with this world’s goods than he. But on the few occasions when this had happened he could never think of anything to say and he suffered agonies of embarrassment at his dumbness. Then he lay awake at night thinking of all the charming gallantries he might have employed; but he rarely got a second chance, for the girls left him alone after a trial or two.

Even with Honey, with whom he had an unspoken understanding of marriage when he came into his property next fall, he was diffident and silent. At times, he had an ungallant feeling that Honey’s coquetries and proprietary airs were no credit to him, for she was so boy-crazy he imagined she would use them on any man who gave her the opportunity. Charles was not excited over the prospect of marrying her, for she stirred in him none of the emotions of wild romance that his beloved books had assured him were proper for a lover. He had always yearned to be loved by some beautiful, dashing creature full of fire and mischief.

And here was Scarlett O’Hara teasing him about breaking her heart!

He tried to think of something to say and couldn’t, and silently he blessed her because she kept up a steady chatter which relieved him of any necessity for conversation. It was too good to be true.

“Now, you wait right here till I come back, for I want to eat barbecue with you. And don’t you go off philandering with those other girls, because I’m mighty jealous,” came the incredible words from red lips with a dimple on each side; and briskly black lashes swept demurely over green eyes.

“I won’t,” he finally managed to breathe, never dreaming that she was thinking he looked like a calf waiting for the butcher.

Tapping him lightly on the arm with her folded fan, she turned to start up the stairs and her eyes again fell on the man called Rhett Butler who stood alone a few feet away from Charles. Evidently he had overheard the whole conversation, for he grinned up at her as maliciously as a tomcat, and again his eyes went over her, in a gaze totally devoid of the deference she was accustomed to.

“God’s nightgown!” said Scarlett to herself in indignation, using Gerald’s favorite oath. “He looks as if—as if he knew what I looked like without my shimmy,” and, tossing her head, she went up the steps.

In the bedroom where the wraps were laid, she found Cathleen Calvert preening before the mirror and biting her lips to make them look redder. There were fresh roses in her sash that matched her cheeks, and her cornflower-blue eyes were dancing with excitement.

“Cathleen,” said Scarlett, trying to pull the corsage of her dress higher, “who is that nasty man downstairs named Butler?”

“My dear, don’t you know?” whispered Cathleen excitedly, a weather eye on the next room where Dilcey and the Wilkes girls’ mammy were gossiping. “I can’t imagine how Mr. Wilkes must feel having him here, but he was visiting Mr. Kennedy in Jonesboro—something about buying cotton—and, of course, Mr. Kennedy had to bring him along with him. He couldn’t just go off and leave him.”

“What is the matter with him?”

“My dear, he isn’t received!”

“Not really!”

“No.”

Scarlett digested this in silence, for she had never before been under the same roof with anyone who was not received. It was very exciting.

“What did he do?”

“Oh, Scarlett, he has the most terrible reputation. His name is Rhett Butler and he’s from Charleston and his folks are some of the nicest people there, but they won’t even speak to him. Caro Rhett told me about him last summer. He isn’t any kin to her family, but she knows all about him, everybody does. He was expelled from West Point. Imagine! And for things too bad for Caro to know. And then there was that business about the girl he didn’t marry.”

“Do tell me!”

“Darling, don’t you know anything? Caro told me all about it last summer and her mama would die if she thought Caro even knew about it. Well, this Mr. Butler took a Charleston girl out buggy riding. I never did know who she was, but I’ve got my suspicions. She couldn’t have been very nice or she wouldn’t have gone out with him in the late afternoon without a chaperon. And, my dear, they stayed out nearly all night and walked home finally, saying the horse had run away and smashed the buggy and they had gotten lost in the woods. And guess what—”

“I can’t guess. Tell me,” said Scarlett enthusiastically, hoping for the worst.

“He refused to marry her the next day!”

“Oh,” said Scarlett, her hopes dashed.

“He said he hadn’t—er—done anything to her and he didn’t see why he should marry her. And, of course, her brother called him out, and Mr. Butler said he’d rather be shot than marry a stupid fool. And so they fought a duel and Mr. Butler shot the girl’s brother and he died, and Mr. Butler had to leave Charleston and now nobody receives him,” finished Cathleen triumphantly, and just in time, for Dilcey came back into the room to oversee the toilet of her charge.

“Did she have a baby?” whispered Scarlett in Cathleen’s ear.

Cathleen shook her head violently. “But she was ruined just the same,” she hissed back.

I wish I had gotten Ashley to compromise me, thought Scarlett suddenly. He’d be too much of a gentleman not to marry me. But somehow, unbidden, she had a feeling of respect for Rhett Butler for refusing to marry a girl who was a fool.

Scarlett sat on a high rosewood ottoman, under the shade of a huge oak in the rear of the house, her flounces and ruffles billowing about her and two inches of green morocco slippers—all that a lady could show and still remain a lady—peeping from beneath them. She had scarcely touched plate in her hands and seven cavaliers about her. The barbecue had reached its peak and the warm air was full of laughter and talk, the click of silver on porcelain and the rich heavy smells of roasting meats and redolent gravies. Occasionally when the slight breeze veered, puffs of smoke from the long barbecue pits floated over the crowd and were greeted with squeals of mock dismay from the ladies and violent flappings of palmetto fans.

Most of the young ladies were seated with partners on the long benches that faced the tables, but Scarlett, realizing that a girl has only two sides and only one man can sit on each of these sides, had elected to sit apart so she could gather about her as many men as possible.

Under the arbor sat the married women, their dark dresses decorous notes in the surrounding color and gaiety. Matrons, regardless of their ages, always grouped together apart from the bright-eyed girls, beaux and laughter, for there were no married belles in the South. From Grandma Fontaine, who was belching frankly with the privilege of her age, to seventeen-year-old Alice Munroe, struggling against the nausea of a first pregnancy, they had their heads together in the endless genealogical and obstetrical discussions that made such gatherings very pleasant and instructive affairs.

Casting contemptuous glances at them, Scarlett thought that they looked like a clump of fat crows. Married women never had any fun. It did not occur to her that if she married Ashley she would automatically be relegated to arbors and front parlors with staid matrons in dull silks, as staid and dull as they and not a part of the fun and frolicking. Like most girls, her imagination carried her just as far as the altar and no further. Besides, she was too unhappy now to pursue an abstraction.

She dropped her eyes to her plate and nibbled daintily on a beaten biscuit with an elegance and an utter lack of appetite that would have won Mammy’s approval. For all that she had a superfluity of beaux, she had never been more miserable in her life. In some way that she could not understand, her plans of last night had failed utterly so far as Ashley was concerned. She had attracted other beaux by the dozens, but not Ashley, and all the fears of yesterday afternoon were sweeping back upon her, making her heart beat fast and then slow, and color flame and whiten in her cheeks.

Ashley had made no attempt to join the circle about her, in fact she had not had a word alone with him since arriving, or even spoken to him since their first greeting. He had come forward to welcome her when she came into the back garden, but Melanie had been on his arm then, Melanie who hardly came up to his shoulder.

She was a tiny, frailly built girl, who gave the appearance of a child masquerading in her mother’s enormous hoop skirts—an illusion that was heightened by the shy, almost frightened look in her too large brown eyes. She had a cloud of curly dark hair which was so sternly repressed beneath its net that no vagrant tendrils escaped, and this dark mass, with its long widow’s peak, accentuated the heart shape of her face. Too wide across the cheek bones, too pointed at the chin, it was a sweet, timid face but a plain face, and she had no feminine tricks of allure to make observers forget its plainness. She looked—and was—as simple as earth, as good as bread, as transparent as spring water. But for all her plainness of feature and smallness of stature, there was a sedate dignity about her movements that was oddly touching and far older than her seventeen years.

Her gray organdie dress, with its cherry-colored satin sash, disguised with its billows and ruffles how childishly undeveloped her body was, and the yellow hat with long cherry streamers made her creamy skin glow. Her heavy earbobs with their long gold fringe hung down from loops of tidily netted hair, swinging close to her brown eyes, eyes that had the still gleam of a forest pool in winter when brown leaves shine up through quiet water.

She had smiled with timid liking when she greeted Scarlett and told her how pretty her green dress was, and Scarlett had been hard put to be even civil in reply, so violently did she want to speak alone with Ashley. Since then, Ashley had sat on a stool at Melanie’s feet, apart from the other guests, and talked quietly with her, smiling the slow drowsy smile that Scarlett loved. What made matters worse was that under his smile a little sparkle had come into Melanie’s eyes, so that even Scarlett had to admit that she looked almost pretty. As Melanie looked at Ashley, her plain face lit up as with an inner fire, for if ever a loving heart showed itself upon a face, it was showing now on Melanie Hamilton’s.

Scarlett tried to keep her eyes from these two but could not, and after each glance she redoubled her gaiety with her cavaliers, laughing, saying daring things, teasing, tossing her head at their compliments until her earrings danced. She said “fiddle-dee-dee” many times, declared that the truth wasn’t in any of them, and vowed that she’d never believe anything any man told her. But Ashley did not seem to notice her at all. He only looked up at Melanie and talked on, and Melanie looked down at him with an expression that radiated the fact that she belonged to him.

So, Scarlett was miserable.

To the outward eye, never had a girl less cause to he miserable. She was undoubtedly the belle of the barbecue, the center of attention. The furore she was causing among the men, coupled with the heart burnings of the other girls, would have pleased her enormously at any other time.

Charles Hamilton, emboldened by her notice, was firmly planted on her right, refusing to be dislodged by the combined efforts of the Tarteton twins. He held her fan in one hand and his untouched plate of barbecue in the other and stubbornly refused to meet the eyes of Honey, who seemed on the verge of an outburst of tears. Cade lounged gracefully on her left, plucking at her skirt to attract her attention and staring up with smoldering eyes at Stuart Already the air was electric between him and the twins and rude words had passed. Frank Kennedy fussed about like a hen with one chick, running back and forth from the shade of the oak to the tables to fetch dainties to tempt Scarlett, as if there were not a dozen servants there for that purpose. As a result, Suellen’s sullen resentment had passed beyond the point of ladylike concealment and she glowered at Scarlett Small Carreen could have cried because, for all Scarlett’s encouraging words that morning, Brent had done no more than say “Hello, Sis” and jerk her hair ribbon before turning his full attention to Scarlett. Usually he was so kind and treated her with a careless deference that made her feel grown up, and Carreen secretly dreamed of the day when she would put her hair up and her skirts down and receive him as a real beau. And now it seemed that Scarlett had him. The Munroe girls were concealing their chagrin at the defection of the swarthy Fontaine boys, but they were annoyed at the way Tony and Alex stood about the circle, jockeying for a position near Scarlett should any of the others arise from their places.

They telegraphed their disapproval of Scarlett’s conduct to Hetty Tarleton by delicately raised eyebrows. “Fast” was the only word for Scarlett. Simultaneously, the three young ladies raised lacy parasols, said they had had quite enough to eat thank you, and, laying light fingers on the arms of the men nearest them, clamored sweetly to see the rose garden, the spring and the summerhouse. This strategic retreat in good order was not lost on a woman present or observed by a man.

Scarlett giggled as she saw three men dragged out of the line of her charms to investigate landmarks familiar to the girls from childhood, and cut her eye sharply to see if Ashley had taken note. But he was playing with the ends of Melanie’s sash and smiling up at her. Pain twisted Scarlett’s heart. She felt that she could claw Melanie’s ivory skin till the blood ran and take pleasure in doing it.

As her eyes wandered from Melanie, she caught the gaze of Rhett Butler, who was not mixing with the crowd but standing apart talking to John Wilkes. He had been watching her and when she looked at him he laughed outright. Scarlett had an uneasy feeling that this man who was not received was the only one present who knew what lay behind her wild gaiety and that it was affording him sardonic amusement. She could have clawed him with pleasure too.

“If I can just live through this barbecue till this afternoon,” she thought, “all the girls will go upstairs to take naps to be fresh for tonight and I’ll stay downstairs and get to talk to Ashley. Surely he must have noticed how popular I am.” She soothed her heart with another hope: “Of course, he has to be attentive to Melanie because, after all, she is his cousin and she isn’t popular at all, and if he didn’t look out for her she’d just be a wallflower.”

She took new courage at this thought and redoubled her efforts in the direction of Charles, whose brown eyes glowed down eagerly at her. It was a wonderful day for Charles, a dream day, and he had fallen in love with Scarlett with no effort at all. Before this new emotion, Honey receded into a dim haze. Honey was a shrill-voiced sparrow and Scarlett a gleaming hummingbird. She teased him and favored him and asked him questions and answered them herself, so that he appeared very clever without having to say a word. The other boys were puzzled and annoyed by her obvious interest in him, for they knew Charles was too shy to hitch two consecutive words together, and politeness was being severely strained to conceal their growing rage. Everyone was smoldering, and it would have been a positive triumph for Scarlett, except for Ashley.

When the last forkful of pork and chicken and mutton had been eaten, Scarlett hoped the time had come when India would rise and suggest that the ladies retire to the house. It was two o’clock and the sun was warm overhead, but India, wearied with the three-day preparations for the barbecue, was only too glad to remain sitting beneath the arbor, shouting remarks to a deaf old gentleman from Fayetteville.

A lazy somnolence descended on the crowd. The negroes idled about, clearing the long tables on which the food had been laid. The laughter and talking became less animated and groups here and there fell silent. All were waiting for their hostess to signal the end of the morning’s festivities. Palmetto fans were wagging more slowly, and several gentlemen were nodding from the heat and overloaded stomachs. The barbecue was over and all were content to take their ease while sun was at its height.

In this interval between the morning party and the evening’s ball, they seemed a placid, peaceful lot. Only the young men retained the restless energy which had filled the whole throng a short while before. Moving from group to group, drawling in their soft voices, they were as handsome as blooded stallions and as dangerous. The languor of midday had taken hold of the gathering, but underneath lurked tempers that could rise to killing heights in a second and flare out as quickly. Men and women, they were beautiful and wild, all a little violent under their pleasant ways and only a little tamed.

Some time dragged by while the sun grew hotter, and Scarlett and others looked again toward India. Conversation was dying out when, in the lull, everyone in the grove heard Gerald’s voice raised in furious accents. Standing some little distance away from the barbecue tables, he was at the peak of an argument with John Wilkes.

“God’s nightgown, man! Pray for a peaceable settlement with the Yankees. After we’ve fired on the rascals at Fort Sumter? Peaceable? The South should show by arms that she cannot be insulted and that she is not leaving the Union by the Union’s kindness but by her own strength!”

“Oh, my God!” thought Scarlett. “He’s done it! Now, we’ll all sit here till midnight.”

In an instant, the somnolence had fled from the lounging throng and something electric went snapping through the air. The men sprang from benches and chain, arms in wide gestures, voices clashing for the right to be heard above other voices. There had been no talk of politics or impending war all during the morning, because of Mr. Wilkes’ request that the ladies should not be bored. But now Gerald had bawled the words “Fort Sumter,” and every man present forgot his host’s admonition.

“Of course we’ll fight—” “Yankee thieves—” “We could lick them in a month—” “Why, one Southerner can lick twenty Yankees—” “Teach them a lesson they won’t soon forget—” “Peaceably? They won’t let us go in peace—” “No, look how Mr. Lincoln insulted our Commissioners!” “Yes, kept them hanging around for weeks—swearing he’d have Sumter evacuated!” They want war; we’ll make them sick of war—” And above all the voices, Gerald’s boomed. All Scarlett could hear was “States’ rights, by God!” shouted over and over. Gerald was having an excellent time, but not his daughter.

Secession, war—these words long since had become acutely boring to Scarlett from much repetition, but now she hated the sound of them, for they meant that the men would stand there for hours haranguing one another and she would have no chance to corner Ashley. Of course there would be no war and the men all knew it. They just loved to talk and hear themselves talk.

Charles Hamilton had not risen with the others and, finding himself comparatively alone with Scarlett, he leaned closer and, with the daring born of new love, whispered a confession.

“Miss O’Hara—I—I had already decided that if we did fight, I’d go over to South Carolina and join a troop there. It’s said that Mr. Wade Hampton is organizing a cavalry troop, and of course I would want to go with him. He’s a splendid person and was my father’s best friend.”

Scarlett thought, “What am I supposed to do—give three cheers?” for Charles’ expression showed that he was baring his heart’s secrets to her. She could think of nothing to say and so merely looked at him, wondering why men were such fools as to think women interested in such matters. He took her expression to mean stunned approbation and went on rapidly, daringly—

“If I went—would—would you be sorry, Miss O’Hara?”

“I should cry into my pillow every night,” said Scarlett, meaning to be flippant, but he took the statement at face value and went red with pleasure. Her hand was concealed in the folds of her dress and he cautiously wormed his hand to it and squeezed it, overwhelmed at his own boldness and at her acquiescence.

“Would you pray for me?”

“What a fool!” thought Scarlett bitterly, casting a surreptitious glance about her in the hope of being rescued from the conversation.

“Would

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[table=80%,#ffffff,#ffc000,2][tr][td]CHAPTER V

IT WAS TEN O’CLOCK in the morning. The day was warm for April and the golden sunlight streamed, brilliantly into Scarlett’s room through the blue curtains of the wide windows. The cream-colored walls glowed with light and the depths of the mahogany furniture gleamed deep red like wine, while the floor glistened as if it were glass, except where the rag rugs covered it and they were spots of gay color.

Already summer was in the air, the first hint of Georgia summer when the high tide of spring gives way reluctantly before a fiercer heat. A balmy, soft warmth poured into the room, heavy with velvety smells, redolent of many blossoms, of newly fledged trees and of the moist, freshly turned red earth. Through the window Scarlett could see the bright riot of the twin lanes of daffodils bordering the graveled driveway and the golden masses of yellow jessamine spreading flowery sprangles modestly to the earth like crinolines. The mockingbirds and the jays, engaged in their old feud for possession of the magnolia tree beneath her window, were bickering, the jays strident, acrimonious, the mockers sweet voiced and plaintive.

Such a glowing morning usually called Scarlett to the window, to lean arms on the broad sill and drink in the scents and sounds of Tara. But, today she had no eye for sun or azure sky beyond a hasty thought, “Thank God, it isn’t raining.” On the bed lay the apple-green, watered-silk ball dress with its festoons of ecru lace, neatly packed in a large cardboard box. It was ready to be carried to Twelve Oaks to be donned before the dancing began, but Scarlett shrugged at the sight of it. If her plans were successful, she would not wear that dress tonight. Long before the ball began, she and Ashley would be on their way to Jonesboro to be married. The troublesome question was—what dress should she wear to the barbecue?

What dress would best set off her charms and make her most irresistible to Ashley? Since eight o’clock she had been trying on and rejecting dresses, and now she stood dejected and irritable in lace pantalets, linen corset cover and three billowing lace and linen petticoats. Discarded garments lay about her on the floor, the bed, the chairs, in bright heaps of color and straying ribbons.

The rose organdie with long pink sash was becoming, but she had worn it last summer when Melanie visited Twelve Oaks and she’d be sure to remember it. And might be catty enough to mention it. The black bombazine, with its puffed sleeves and princess lace collar, set off her white skin superbly, but it did make her look a trifle elderly. Scarlett peered anxiously in the mirror at her sixteen-year-old face as if expecting to see wrinkles and sagging chin muscles. It would never do to appear sedate and elderly before Melanie’s sweet youthfulness. The lavender barred muslin was beautiful with those wide insets of lace and net about the hem, but it had never suited her type. It would suit Carreen’s delicate profile and wishy-washy expression perfectly, but Scarlett felt that it made her look like a schoolgirl. It would never do to appear schoolgirlish beside Melanie’s poised self. The green plaid taffeta, frothing with flounces and each flounce edged in green velvet ribbon, was most becoming, in fact her favorite dress, for it darkened her eyes to emerald. But there was unmistakably a grease spot on the front of the basque. Of course, her brooch could be pinned over the spot, but perhaps Melanie had sharp eyes. There remained varicolored cotton dresses which Scarlett felt were not festive enough for the occasion, ball dresses and the green sprigged muslin she had worn yesterday. But it was an afternoon dress. It was not suitable for a barbecue, for it had only tiny puffed sleeves and the neck was low enough for a dancing dress. But there was nothing else to do but wear it. After all she was not ashamed of her neck and arms and bosom, even if it was not correct to show them in the morning.

As she stood before the mirror and twisted herself about to get a side view, she thought that there was absolutely nothing about her figure to cause her shame. Her neck was short but rounded and her arms plump and enticing. Her breasts, pushed high by her stays, were very nice breasts. She had never had to sew tiny rows of silk ruffles in the lining of her basques, as most sixteen-year-old girls did, to give their figures the desired curves and fullness. She was glad she had inherited Ellen’s slender white hands and tiny feet, and she wished she had Ellen’s height, too, but her own height pleased her very well. What a pity legs could not be shown, she thought, pulling up her petticoats and regretfully viewing them, plump and neat under pantalets. She had such nice legs. Even the girls at the Fayetteville Academy had admitted as much. And as for her waist—there was no one in Fayetteville, Jonesboro or in three counties, for that matter, who had so small a waist.

The thought of her waist brought her back to practical matters. The green muslin measured seventeen inches about the waist, and Mammy had laced her for the eighteen-inch bombazine. Mammy would have to lace her tighter. She pushed open the door, listened and heard Mammy’s heavy tread in the downstairs hall. She shouted for her impatiently, knowing she could raise her voice with impunity, as Ellen was in the smokehouse, measuring out the day’s food to Cookie.

“Some folks thinks as how Ah kin fly,” grumbled Mammy, shuffling up the stairs. She entered puffing, with the expression of one who expects battle and welcomes it. In her large black hands was a tray upon which food smoked, two large yams covered with butter, a pile of buckwheat cakes dripping syrup, and a large slice of ham swimming in gravy. Catching sight of Mammy’s burden, Scarlett’s expression changed from one of minor irritation to obstinate belligerency. In the excitement of trying on dresses she had forgotten Mammy’s ironclad rule that, before going to any party, the O’Hara girls must be crammed so full of food at home they would be unable to eat any refreshments at the party.

“It’s no use. I won’t eat it. You can just take it back to the kitchen.”

Mammy set the tray on the table and squared herself, hands on hips.

“Yas’m, you is! Ah ain’ figgerin’ on havin’ happen whut happen at dat las’ barbecue w’en Ah wuz too sick frum dem chittlins Ah et ter fetch you no tray befo’ you went. You is gwine eat eve’y bite of dis.”

“I am not! Now, come here and lace me tighter because we are late already. I heard the carriage come round to the front of the house.”

Mammy’s tone became wheedling.

“Now, Miss Scarlett, you be good an’ come eat jes’a lil. Miss Carreen an’ Miss Suellen done eat all dey’n.”

“They would,” said Scarlett contemptuously. “They haven’t any more spirit than a rabbit. But I won’t! I’m through with trays. I’m not forgetting the time I ate a whole tray and went to the Calverts’ and they had ice cream out of ice they’d brought all the way from Savannah, and I couldn’t eat but a spoonful. I’m going to have a good time today and eat as much as I please.”

At this defiant heresy, Mammy’s brow lowered with indignation. What a young miss could do and what she could not do were as different as black and white in Mammy’s mind; there was no middle ground of deportment between. Suellen and Carreen were clay in her powerful hands and harkened respectfully to her warning. But it had always been a struggle to teach Scarlett that most of her natural impulses were unladylike. Mammy’s victories over Scarlett were hard-won and represented guile unknown to the white mind.

“Ef you doan care ‘bout how folks talks ‘bout dis fambly, Ah does,” she rumbled. “Ah ain’ gwine stand by an’ have eve’ybody at de pahty sayin’ how you ain’ fotched up right. Ah has tole you an’ tole you dat you kin allus tell a lady by dat she eat lak a bird. An’ Ah ain’ aimin’ ter have you go ter Mist’ Wilkes’ an’ eat lak a fe’el han’ an’ gobble lak a hawg.”

“Mother is a lady and she eats,” countered Scarlett.

“W’en you is mahied, you kin eat, too,” retorted Mammy. “Wen Miss Ellen yo’ age, she never et nuthin’ w’en she went out, an’ needer yo’ Aunt Pauline nor yo’ Aunt Eulalie. An’ dey all done mahied. Young misses whut eats heavy mos’ generly doan never ketch husbands.”

“I don’t believe it. At that barbecue when you were sick and I didn’t eat beforehand, Ashley Wilkes told me he liked to see a girl with a healthy appetite.”

Mammy shook her head ominously.

“Whut gempmums says an’ whut dey thinks is two diffunt things. An’ Ah ain’ noticed Mist’ Ashley axing fer ter mahy you.”

Scarlett scowled, started to speak sharply and then caught herself. Mammy had her there and there was no argument. Seeing the obdurate look on Scarlett’s face, Mammy picked up the tray and, with the bland guile of her race, changed her tactics. As she started for the door, she sighed.

“Well’m, awright. Ah wuz tellin’ Cookie w’ile she wuz a-fixin’ dis tray, ‘You kin sho tell a lady by whut she doan eat,’ an’ Ah say ter Cookie, ‘Ah ain’ seed no w’ite lady who et less’n Miss Melly Hamilton did las’ time she wuz visitin’ Mist’ Ashley’—Ah means, visitin’ Miss India.”

Scarlett shot a look of sharp suspicion at her, but Mammy’s broad face carried only a look of innocence and of regret that Scarlett was not the lady Melanie Hamilton was.

“Put down that tray and come lace me tighter,” said Scarlett irritably. “And I’ll try to eat a little afterwards. If I ate now I couldn’t lace tight enough.”

Cloaking her triumph, Mammy set down the tray.

“Whut mah lamb gwine wear?”

“That,” answered Scarlett, pointing at the fluffy mass of green flowered muslin. Instantly Mammy was in arms.

“No, you ain’. It ain’ fittin’ fer mawnin’. You kain show yo’ buzzum befo’ three o’clock an’ dat dress ain’ got no neck an’ no sleeves. An’ you’ll git freckled sho as you born, an’ Ah ain’ figgerin’ on you gittin’ freckled affer all de buttermilk Ah been puttin’ on you all dis winter, bleachin’ dem freckles you got at Savannah settin’ on de beach. Ah sho gwine speak ter yo’ Ma ‘bout you.”

“If you say one word to her before I’m dressed I won’t eat a bite,’ said Scarlett coolly. “Mother won’t have time to send me back to change once I’m dressed.”

Mammy sighed resignedly, beholding herself outguessed. Between the two evils, it was better to have Scarlett wear an afternoon dress at a morning barbecue than to have her gobble like a hog.

“Hole onter sumpin’ an’ suck in yo’ breaf,” she commanded.

Scarlett obeyed, bracing herself and catching firm hold of one of the bedposts. Mammy pulled and jerked vigorously and, as the tiny circumference of whalebone-girdled waist grew smaller, a proud, fond look came into her eyes.

“Ain’ nobody got a wais’ lak mah lamb,” she said approvingly. “Eve’y time Ah pulls Miss Suellen littler dan twenty inches, she up an’ faint.”

“Pooh!” gasped Scarlett, speaking with difficulty. “I never fainted in my life.”

“Well, ‘twouldn’ do no hahm ef you wuz ter faint now an’ den,” advised Mammy. “You is so brash sometimes, Miss Scarlett. Ah been aimin’ ter tell you, it jes’ doan look good de way you ‘doan faint ‘bout snakes an’ mouses an’ sech. Ah doan mean round home but w’en you is out in comp’ny. An’ Ah has tole you an’—”

“Oh, hurry! Don’t talk so much. I’ll catch a husband. See if I don’t, even if I don’t scream and faint. Goodness, but my stays are tight! Put on the dress.”

Mammy carefully dropped the twelve yards of green sprigged muslin over the mountainous petticoats and hooked up the back of the tight, low-cut basque.

“You keep yo’ shawl on yo’ shoulders w’en you is in de sun, an’ doan you go takin’ off yo’ hat w’en you is wahm,” she commanded. “Elsewise you be comin’ home lookin’ brown lak Ole Miz Slattery. Now, you come eat, honey, but doan eat too fas’. No use havin’ it come right back up agin.”

Scarlett obediently sat down before the tray, wondering if she would be able to get any food into her stomach and still have room to breathe. Mammy plucked a large towel from the washstand and carefully tied it around Scarlett’s neck, spreading the white folds over her lap. Scarlett began on the ham, because she liked ham, and forced it down.

“I wish to Heaven I was married,” she said resentfully as she attacked the yams with loathing. ‘Tin tired of everlastingly being unnatural and never doing anything I want to do. I’m tired of acting like I don’t eat more than a bird, and walking when I want to run and saying I feel faint after a waltz, when I could dance for two days and never get tired. I’m tired of saying, ‘How wonderful you are!’ to fool men who haven’t got one-half the sense I’ve got, and I’m tired of pretending I don’t know anything, so men can tell me things and feel important while they’re doing it ... I can’t eat another bite.”

“Try a hot cake,” said Mammy inexorably.

“Why is it a girl has to be so silly to catch a husband?”

“Ah specs it’s kase gempmums doan know whut dey wants. Dey jes’ knows whut dey thinks dey wants. An’ givin’ dem whut dey thinks dey wants saves a pile of mizry an’ bein’ a ole maid. An’ dey thinks dey wants mousy lil gals wid bird’s tastes an’ no sense at all. It doan make a gempmum feel lak mahyin’ a lady ef he suspicions she got mo’ sense dan he has.”

“Don’t you suppose men get surprised after they’re married to find that their wives do have sense?”

“Well, it’s too late den. Dey’s already mahied. ‘Sides, gempmums specs dey wives ter have sense.”

“Some day I’m going to do and say everything I want to do and say, and if people don’t like it I don’t care.”

“No, you ain’,” said Mammy grimly. “Not while Ah got breaf. You eat dem cakes. Sop dem in de gravy, honey.”

“I don’t think Yankee girls have to act like such fools. When we were at Saratoga last year, I noticed plenty of them acting like they had right good sense and in front of men, too.”

Mammy snorted.

“Yankee gals! Yas’m, Ah guess dey speaks dey minds awright, but Ah ain’ noticed many of dem gittin’ proposed ter at Saratoga.”

“But Yankees must get married,” argued Scarlett. “They don’t just grow. They must get married and have children. There’s too many of them.”

“Men mahys dem fer dey money,” said Mammy firmly.

Scarlett sopped the wheat cake in the gravy and put it in her mouth. Perhaps there was something to what Mammy said. There must be something in it, for Ellen said the same things, in different and more delicate words. In fact, the mothers of all her girl friends impressed on their daughters the necessity of being helpless, clinging, doe-eyed creatures. Really, it took a lot of sense to cultivate and hold such a pose. Perhaps she had been too brash. Occasionally she- had argued with Ashley and frankly aired her opinions. Perhaps this and her healthy enjoyment of walking and riding had turned him from her to the frail Melanie. Perhaps if she changed her tactics— But she felt that if Ashley succumbed to premeditated feminine tricks, she could never respect him as she now did. Any man who was fool enough to fall for a simper, a faint and an “Oh, how wonderful you are!” wasn’t worth having. But they all seemed to like it.

If she had used the wrong tactics with Ashley in the past—well, that was the past and done with. Today she would use different ones, the right ones. She wanted him and she had only a few hours in which to get him. If fainting, or pretending to faint, would do the trick, then she would faint. If simpering, coquetry or empty-headedness would attract him, she would gladly play the flirt and be more empty-headed than even Cathleen Calvert. And if bolder measures were necessary, she would take them. Today was the day!

There was no one to tell Scarlett that her own personality, frighteningly vital though it was, was more attractive than any masquerade she might adopt. Had she been, told, she would have been pleased but unbelieving. And the civilization of which she was a part would have been unbelieving too, for at no time, before or since, had so low a premium been placed on feminine naturalness.

As the carriage bore her down the red road toward the Wilkes plantation, Scarlett had a feeling of guilty pleasure that neither her mother nor Mammy was with the party. There would be no one at the barbecue who, by delicately lifted brows or out-thrust underlip, could interfere with her plan of action. Of course, Suellen would be certain to tell tales tomorrow, but if an went as Scarlett hoped, the excitement of the family over her engagement to Ashley or her elopement would more than overbalance their displeasure. Yes, she was very glad Ellen had been forced to stay at home.

Gerald, primed with brandy, had given Jonas Wilkerson his dismissal that morning and Ellen had remained at Tara to go over the accounts of the plantation before he took his departure. Scarlett had kissed her mother good-by in the little office where she sat before the tall secretary with its paper-stuffed pigeonholes. Jonas Wilkerson, hat in hand, stood beside her, his sallow tight-skinned face hardly concealing the fury of hate that possessed him at being so unceremoniously turned out of the best overseer’s job in the County. And all because of a bit of minor philandering. He had told Gerald over and over that Emmie Slattery’s baby might have been fathered by any one of a dozen men as easily as himself—an idea in which Gerald concurred—but that had not altered his case so far as Ellen was concerned. Jonas hated all Southerners. He hated their cool courtesy to him and their contempt for his social status, so inadequately covered by their courtesy. He hated Ellen O’Hara above anyone else, for she was the epitome of all that he hated in Southerners.

Mammy, as head woman of the plantation, had remained to help Ellen, and it was Dilcey who rode on the driver’s seat beside Toby, the girls’ dancing dresses in a long box across her lap. Gerald rode beside the carriage on his big hunter, warm with brandy and pleased with himself for having gotten through with the unpleasant business of Wilkerson so speedily. He had shoved the responsibility onto Ellen, and her disappointment at missing the barbecue and the gathering of her friends did not enter his mind; for it was a fine spring day and his fields were beautiful and the birds were singing and he felt too young and frolicsome to think of anyone else. Occasionally he burst out with “Peg in a Low-backed Car” and other Irish ditties or the more lugubrious lament for Robert Emmet, “She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps.”

He was happy, pleasantly excited over the prospect of spending the day shouting about the Yankees and the war, and proud of his three pretty daughters in their bright spreading hoop skirts beneath foolish little lace parasols. He gave no thought to his conversation of the day before with Scarlett, for it had completely slipped his mind. He only thought that she was pretty and a great credit to him and that, today, her eyes were as green as the hills of Ireland. The last thought made him think better of himself, for it had a certain poetic ring to it, and so he favored the girls with a loud and slightly off-key rendition of “The Wearin’ o’ the Green.”

Scarlett, looking at him with the affectionate contempt that mothers feel for small swaggering sons, knew that he would be very drunk by sundown. Coming home in the dark, he would try, as usual, to jump every fence between Twelve Oaks and Tara and, she hoped, by the mercy of Providence and the good sense of his horse, would escape breaking his neck. He would disdain the bridge and swim his horse through the river and come home roaring, to be put to bed on the sofa in the office by Pork who always waited up with a lamp in the front hall on such occasions.

He would ruin his new gray broadcloth suit, which would cause him to swear horribly in the morning and tell Ellen at great length how his horse fell off the bridge in the darkness—a palpable lie which would fool no one but which would be accepted by all and make him feel very clever.

Pa is a sweet, selfish, irresponsible darling, Scarlett thought, with a surge of affection for him. She felt so excited and happy this morning that she included the whole world, as well as Gerald, in her affection. She was pretty and she knew it; she would have Ashley for her own before the day was over; the sun was warm and tender and the glory of the Georgia spring was spread before her eyes. Along the roadside the blackberry brambles were concealing with softest green the savage red gulches cut by the winter’s rains, and the bare granite boulders pushing up through the red earth were being draped with sprangles of Cherokee roses and compassed about by wild violets of palest purple hue. Upon the wooded hills above the river, the dogwood blossoms lay glistening and white, as if snow still lingered among the greenery. The flowering crab trees were bursting their buds and rioting from delicate white to deepest pink and, beneath the trees where the sunshine dappled the pine straw, the wild honeysuckle made a varicolored carpet of scarlet and orange and rose. There was a faint wild fragrance of sweet shrub on the breeze and the world smelted good enough to eat.

“I’ll remember how beautiful this day is till I die,” thought Scarlett. “Perhaps it will be my wedding day!”

And she thought with a tingling in her heart how she and Ashley might ride swiftly through this beauty of blossom and greenery this very afternoon, or tonight by moonlight, toward Jonesboro and a preacher. Of course, she would have to be remarried by a priest from Atlanta, but that would be something for Ellen and Gerald to worry about. She quailed a little as she thought how white with mortification Ellen would be at hearing that her daughter had eloped with another girl’s fiancé, but she knew Ellen would forgive her when she saw her happiness. And Gerald would scold and bawl but, for all his remarks of yesterday about not wanting her to marry Ashley, he would be pleased beyond words at an alliance between his family and the Wilkes.

“But that’ll be something to worry about after I’m married,” she thought, tossing the worry from her.

It was impossible to feel anything but palpitating joy in this warm sun, in this spring, with the chimneys of Twelve Oaks just beginning to show on the hill across the river.

“I’ll live there all my life and I’ll see fifty springs like this and maybe more, and I’ll tell my children and my grandchildren how beautiful this spring was, lovelier than any they’ll ever see.” She was so happy at this thought that she joined in the last chorus of “The Wearin’ o’ the Green” and won Gerald’s shouted approval.

“I don’t know why you’re so happy this morning,” said Suellen crossly, for the thought still rankled in her mind that she would look far better in Scarlett’s green silk dancing frock than its rightful owner would. And why was Scarlett always so selfish about lending her clothes and bonnets? And why did Mother always back her up, declaring green was not Suellen’s color? “You know as well as I do that Ashley’s engagement is going to be announced tonight. Pa said so this morning. And I know you’ve been sweet on him for months.”

“That’s all you know,” said Scarlett, putting out her tongue and refusing to lose her good humor. How surprised Miss Sue would be by this time tomorrow morning!

“Susie, you know that’s not so,” protested Carreen, shocked. “It’s Brent that Scarlett cares about.”

Scarlett turned smiling green eyes upon her younger sister, wondering how anyone could be so sweet. The whole family knew that Carreen’s thirteen-year-old heart was set upon Brent Tarleton, who never gave her a thought except as Scarlett’s baby sister. When Ellen was not present, the O’Haras teased her to tears about him.

“Darling, I don’t care a thing about Brent,” declared Scarlett, happy enough to be generous. “And he doesn’t care a thing about me. Why, he’s waiting for you to grow up!”

Carreen’s round little face became pink, as pleasure struggled with incredulity.

“Oh, Scarlett, really?”

“Scarlett, you know Mother said Carreen was too young to think about beaux yet, and there you go putting ideas in her head.”

“Well, go and tattle and see if I care,” replied Scarlett. “You want to hold Sissy back, because you know she’s going to be prettier than you in a year or so.”

“You’ll be keeping civil tongues in your heads this day, or I’ll be taking me crop to you,” warned Gerald. “Now whist! Is it wheels I’m hearing? That’ll be the Tarletons or the Fontaines.”

As they neared the intersecting road that came down the thickly wooded hill from Mimosa and Fairhill, the sound of hooves and carriage wheels became plainer and clamorous feminine voices raised in pleasant dispute sounded from behind the screen of trees. Gerald, riding ahead, pulled up his hone and signed to Toby to stop the carriage where the two roads met.

“ ‘Tis the Tarleton ladies,” he announced to his daughters, his florid face abeam, for excepting Ellen there was no lady in the County he liked more than the red-haired Mrs. Tarleton. “And ‘tis herself at the reins. Ah, there’s a woman with fine hands for a horse! Feather light and strong as rawhide, and pretty enough to kiss for all that. More’s the pity none of you have such hands,” he added, casting fond but reproving glances at his girls. “With Carreen afraid of the poor beasts and Sue with hands tike sadirons when it comes to reins and you, Puss—”

“Well, at any rate I’ve never been thrown,” cried Scarlett indignantly. “And Mrs. Tarleton takes a toss at every hunt.”

“And breaks a collar bone like a man,” said Gerald. “No fainting, no fussing. Now, no more of it, for here she comes.”

He stood up in his stirrups and took off his hat with a sweep, as the Tarleton carriage, overflowing with girls in bright dresses and parasols and fluttering veils, came into view, with Mrs. Tarleton on the box as Gerald had said. With her four daughters, their mammy and their ball dresses in long cardboard boxes crowding the carriage, there was no room for the coachman. And, besides, Beatrice Tarleton never willingly permitted anyone, black or white, to hold reins when her arms were out of slings. Frail, fine-boned, so white of skin that her flaming hair seemed to have drawn all the color from her face into its vital burnished mass, she was nevertheless possessed of exuberant health and untiring energy. She had borne eight children, as red of hair and as full of life as she, and had raised them most successfully, so the County said, because she gave them all the loving neglect and the stem discipline she gave the colts she bred. “Curb them but don’t break their spirits,” was Mrs. Tarleton’s motto.

She loved horses and talked horses constantly. She understood them and handled them better than any man in the County. Colts overflowed the paddock onto the front lawn, even as her eight children overflowed the rambling house on the hill, and colts and sons and daughters and hunting dogs tagged after her as she went about the plantation. She credited her horses, especially her red mare, Nellie, with human intelligence; and if the cares of the house kept her busy beyond the time when she expected to take her daily ride, she put the sugar bowl in the hands of some small pickaninny and said: “Give Nellie a handful and tell her I’ll be out terrectly.”

Except on rare occasions she always wore her riding habit, for whether she rode or not she always expected to ride and in that expectation put on her habit upon arising. Each morning, rain or shine, Nellie was saddled and walked up and down in front of the house, waiting for the time when Mrs. Tarleton could spare an hour away from her duties. But Fairhill was a difficult plantation to manage and spare time hard to get, and more often than not Nellie walked up and down riderless hour after hour, while Beatrice Tarleton went through the day with the skirt of her habit absently looped over her arm and six inches of shining boot showing below it.

Today, dressed in dull black silk over unfashionably narrow hoops, she still looked as though in her habit, for the dress was as severely tailored as her riding costume and the small black hat with Ha long black plume perched over one warm, twinkling, brown eye was a replica of the battered old hat she used for hunting.

She waved her whip when she saw Gerald and drew her dancing pair of red horses to a halt, and the four girls in the back of the carriage leaned out and gave such vociferous cries of greeting that the team pranced in alarm. To a casual observer it would seem that years had passed since the Tarletons had seen the O’Haras, instead of only two days. But they were a sociable family and liked their neighbors, especially the O’Hara girls. That is, they liked Suellen and Carreen. No girl in the County, with the possible exception of the empty-headed Cathleen Calvert, really liked Scarlett.

In summers, the County averaged a barbecue and ball nearly every week, but to the red-haired Tarletons with their enormous capacity for enjoying themselves, each barbecue and each ball was as exciting as if it were the fast they had ever attended. They were a pretty, buxom quartette, so crammed into the carriage that their hoops and flounces overlapped and their parasols nudged and bumped together above their wide leghorn sun hats, crowned with roses and dangling with black velvet chin ribbons. All shades of red hair were represented beneath these hats, Hetty’s plain red hair, Camilla’s strawberry blonde, Randa’s coppery auburn and small Betsy’s carrot top.

“That’s a fine bevy. Ma’m,” said Gerald gallantly, reining his horse alongside the carriage. “But it’s far they’ll go to beat their mother.”

Mrs. Tarleton rolled her red-brown eyes and sucked in her tower lip in burlesqued appreciation, and the girls cried, “Ma, stop making, eyes or well tell Pa!” “I vow, Mr. O’Hara, she never gives us a chance when there’s a handsome man like you around!”

Scarlett laughed with the rest at these sallies but, as always, the freedom with which the Tarletons treated their mother came as a shock. They acted as if she were one of themselves and not a day over sixteen. To Scarlett, the very idea of saying such things to her own mother was almost sacrilegious. And yet—and yet—there was something very pleasant about the Tarleton girls’ relations with their mother, and they adored her for all that they criticized and scolded and teased her. Not, Scarlett loyally hastened to tell herself, that she would prefer a mother like Mrs. Tarleton to Ellen, but still it would be fun to romp with a mother. She knew that even that thought was disrespectful to Ellen and felt ashamed of it. She knew no such troublesome thoughts ever disturbed the brains under the four flaming thatches in the carriage and, as always when she felt herself different from her neighbors, an irritated confusion fell upon her.

Quick though her brain was, it was not made for analysis, but she half-consciously realized that, for all the Tarleton girls were as unruly as colts and wild as March hares, there was an unworried single-mindedness about them that was part of their inheritance. On both their mother’s and their father’s side they were Georgians, north Georgians, only a generation away from pioneers. They were sure of themselves and of their environment. They knew instinctively what they were about, as did the Wilkeses, though in widely divergent ways, and in them there was no such conflict as frequently raged in Scarlett’s bosom where the blood of a soft-voiced, overbred Coast aristocrat mingled with the shrewd, earthy blood of an Irish peasant. Scarlett wanted to respect and adore her mother like an idol and to rumple her hair and tease her too. And she knew she should be altogether one way or the other. It was the same conflicting emotion that made her desire to appear a delicate and high-bred lady with boys and to be, as well, a hoyden who was not above a few kisses.

“Where’s Ellen this morning?” asked Mrs. Tarleton.

“She’s after discharging our overseer and stayed home to go over the accounts with him. Where’s himself and the lads?”

“Oh, they rode over to Twelve Oaks

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[table=80%,#ffffff,#ffc000,2][tr][td]CHAPTER IV

THAT NIGHT AT SUPPER, Scarlett went through the motions of presiding over the table in her mother’s absence, but her mind was in a ferment over the dreadful news she had heard about Ashley 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 to take 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 thought she could endure it no longer. He had forgotten completely about his conversation with her that afternoon and was carrying on a monologue about the latest news from Fort Sumter, which he punctuated by hammering his fist on the table and waving his arms in the air. Gerald made a habit of dominating the conversation at mealtimes, and usually Scarlett, occupied with her own thoughts, scarcely heard him; but tonight she could not shut out his voice, no matter how much she strained 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 would be shocked and grieved to know that a daughter of hers wanted a man who was engaged to another girl. But, in the depths of the first tragedy she had ever known, she wanted the very comfort of her mother’s presence. She always felt secure when Ellen was by her, for there was nothing so bad that Ellen 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 sank down 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 the yard and high-pitched negro laughter. Looking out the window, Scarlett saw Pork, who had left the room a moment before, holding high a flaring pine knot, while indistinguishable figures descended from 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 and into 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 rolling and his teeth a-gleam.

“Mist’ Gerald,” he announced, breathing hard, the pride of a bridegroom all over his shining face, “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, so unlined was her immobile bronze face. Indian blood was plain in her features, overbalancing the negroid 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 the mixture of two races. She was self-possessed and walked with a dignity that surpassed even Mammy’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 more carefully.

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

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

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

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

“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 a good 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 not help grinning back.

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

“Thankee, Ma’m. I gives you a good night,” said Dilcey and, turning, left the room with her child, Pork dancing attendance. The supper things cleared away, Gerald resumed his oration, but with little satisfaction to himself and none at all to his audience. His thunderous predictions of immediate war and his rhetorical questions as to whether the South would stand for further insults from the Yankees only produced faintly bored, “Yes, Papas” and “No, Pas.” Carreen, sitting on a hassock under the big lamp, was deep in the romance of a girl who had taken the veil after her lover’s death and, with silent tears of enjoyment oozing from her eyes, was pleasurably picturing herself in a white coif. Suellen, embroidering on what she gigglingly called her “hope chest,” was wondering if she could possibly detach Stuart Tarleton from her sister’s side at the barbecue tomorrow and fascinate him with the sweet womanly qualities which she possessed and Scarlett did 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 was breaking? As usual in the very young, she marveled that people could be so selfishly oblivious to her 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 room where they sat should be so placid, so unchanged from what it had always been. The heavy mahogany table and sideboards, the massive silver, the bright rag rugs on the shining floor were all in their accustomed places, just as if nothing had happened. It was a friendly and comfortable room and, ordinarily, Scarlett loved the quiet hours which the family spent there after supper; but tonight she hated the sight of it and, if she had not feared her father’s loudly bawled questions, she would have slipped away, down the dark hall to Ellen’s little office and cried out her sorrow on the old sofa.

That was the room that Scarlett liked the best in all the house. There, Ellen sat before her tall secretary each morning, keeping the accounts of the plantation and listening to the reports of Jonas Wilkerson, the overseer. There also the family idled while Ellen’s quill scratched across her ledgers, Gerald in the old rocker, the girls on the sagging cushions of the sofa that was too battered and worn for the front of the house. Scarlett longed to be there now, alone with Ellen, so she could put 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 voice dismissing the coachman floated into the room. The whole group looked up eagerly as she entered rapidly, her hoops swaying, her face tired and sad. There entered with her the faint fragrance of lemon 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 leather bag in her hand, her underlip pushed out and her brow lowering. Mammy muttered darkly to herself as she waddled, taking care that her remarks were pitched too low to be understood but loud enough to register her unqualified disapproval.

“I am sorry I am so late,” said Ellen, slipping her plaid shawl from drooping shoulders and handing 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 will live.”

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

“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 had not 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 knew she would never learn the truth of the matter if she waited to hear it from her mother. Scarlett suspected Jonas Wilkerson, for she had frequently seen him walking down the road with Emmie at nightfall. Jonas was a Yankee and a bachelor, and the fact that he was an overseer forever barred him from any contact with the County social life. There was no family of any standing into which he 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 want to 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’s eyes which she noticed no more than if they had not happened at all. Ellen ignored all things contrary 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 which they 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 with indignation as she started down the hall for the kitchen. “Poke!” she called, “tell Cookie stir up de fiah. Miss Ellen home.”

As the boards shuddered under her weight, the soliloquy she had been muttering in the front hall grew 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 de shiflesses, 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, that led into the kitchen. Mammy had her own method of letting her owners know exactly where she stood on all matters. She knew it was beneath the dignity of quality white folks to pay the slightest attention to what a darky said when she was just grumbling to herself. She knew that to uphold this dignity, they must ignore what she said, even if she stood in the next room and almost shouted. It protected her from reproof, and it left no doubt in anyone’s mind as to her exact views on any subject.

Pork entered the room, bearing a plate, silver and a napkin. He was followed closely by Jack, a black little boy of ten, hastily buttoning a white linen jacket with one hand and bearing in the other a fly-swisher, made of thin strips of newspaper tied to a reed longer than he was. Ellen had a beautiful peacock-feather fly-brusher, but it was used only on very special occasions and then only after domestic struggle, due to the obstinate conviction of Pork, Cookie and Mammy that peacock feathers 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 Twelve Oaks. 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 she wear 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! Cade Calvert was in Atlanta this morning and he says—will you be quiet and let me be hearing me own voice?—and he says it’s all upset they are there and talking nothing but war, militia drilling, troops forming. And he says the news from Charleston is that they will be putting up with no more Yankee insults.”

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

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

“No, Carreen, next year, dear. Then you can stay up for balls and wear grown-up dresses, and what 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 your complexion, 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 been planning 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 masculine matters about which no lady could intelligently concern herself. But it gave Gerald pleasure to air his 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 butter dripping from it. Mammy pinched small Jack, and he hastened to his business of slowly swishing the paper ribbons back and forth behind Ellen. Mammy stood beside the table, watching every forkful that traveled from plate to mouth, as though she intended to force the food down Ellen’s throat should she see signs of flagging. Ellen ate diligently, but Scarlett could see that she was too tired 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 of Yankees 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 thumps marked the hour. “Carreen should have been asleep long ago. The lamp, please. Pork, and my prayer book, Mammy.”

Prompted by Mammy’s hoarse whisper. Jack set his fly-brush in the corner and removed the dishes, 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 was brightly bathed in light and the ceiling receded into shadows. Ellen arranged her skirts and sank to the floor on her knees, laying the open prayer book on the table before her and clasping her hands upon it Gerald knelt beside her, and Scarlett and Suellen took their accustomed places on the opposite side of the table, folding their voluminous petticoats in pads under their knees, so they would ache less from contact with the hard floor. Carreen, who was small for her age, could not kneel comfortably at the table and so knelt facing a chair, her elbows on the seat. She liked this position, for she seldom failed to go to sleep during prayers and, in this posture, it escaped her mother’s notice.

The house servants shuffled and rustled in the hall to kneel by the doorway, Mammy groaning aloud as she sank down, Pork straight as a ramrod, Rosa and Teena, the maids, graceful in their spreading bright calicoes, Cookie gaunt and yellow beneath her snowy head rag, and Jack, stupid with sleep, as far away from Mammy’s pinching fingers as possible. Their dark eyes gleamed expectantly, for praying with their white folks was one of the events of the day. The old and colorful phrases of the litany with its Oriental imagery meant little to them but it satisfied something in their hearts, and they always swayed when they chanted the responses: “Lord, have mercy on 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 long fingers and began the Rosary, like the rushing of a soft wind, the responses from black throats and white 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 upon Scarlett as it always did at this hour. Some of the disappointment of the day and the dread of the morrow departed from her, leaving a feeling of hope. It was not the lifting up of her heart to God that brought this balm, for religion went no more than lip deep with her. It was the sight of her mother’s serene face upturned to the throne of God and His saints and angels, praying for blessings on those whom she loved. When Ellen intervened with Heaven, Scarlett felt certain that Heaven heard.

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

She dropped her head upon her folded hands so that her mother could not see her face, and her thoughts went sadly back to Ashley. How could he be planning to marry Melanie when he really loved her, Scarlett? And when he knew how much she loved him? How could he deliberately break her 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 paralyzed for 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 he probably thinks I don’t care a thing about him except as a friend. Yes, that’s why he’s never spoken! 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 that strange manner, when the gray eyes that were such perfect curtains for his thoughts had been wide and 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. And probably 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 to Ashley’s reticence, to his strange conduct. He didn’t know! Her vanity leaped to the aid of her desire 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’ve been not to think of this till now! I must think of some way to let him know. He wouldn’t marry her 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 she began her decade, telling off the beads automatically but with a depth of emotion in her voice that caused Mammy to open her eyes and shoot a searching glance at her. As she finished her prayers and Suellen, then Carreen, began their decades, her mind was still speeding onward with her entrancing new thought.

Even now, it wasn’t too late! Too often the County had been scandalized by elopements when one or the other of the participating parties was practically at the altar with a third. And Ashley’s engagement 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’t it 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 responses and her mother was looking at her reprovingly. As she resumed the ritual, she opened her eyes briefly 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 to her sight an hour ago, in an instant took on the color of her own emotions, and the room seemed once 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, and obediently Scarlett responded: “Pray for us,” as Ellen praised in soft contralto the attributes of the Mother of God.

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

When the last “Amen” sounded, they all rose, somewhat stiffly, Mammy being hauled to her feet by the combined efforts of Teena and Rosa. Pork took a long spiller from the mantelpiece, lit it from 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 of candles in candlesticks. Pork lit one lamp and three candles and, with the pompous dignity of a first 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, followed him, 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 dark closet for the dancing dress that needed stitching. Throwing it across her arm, she crossed the hall quietly. The door of her parents’ bedroom was slightly ajar and, before she could knock, Ellen’s voice, 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 me out of my eye-teeth?”

“He must be dismissed, immediately, tomorrow morning. Big Sam is a good foreman and he can take 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 you expect 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 on the door and handed the dress to her mother.

By the time Scarlett had undressed and blown out the candle, her plan for tomorrow had worked itself out in every detail. It was a simple plan, for, with Gerald’s single-mindedness of purpose, her eyes 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 at Twelve Oaks, she would be her gayest, most spirited self. No one would suspect that she had ever been downhearted because of Ashley and Melanie. And she would flirt with every man there. That would be cruel to Ashley, but it would make him yearn for her all the more. She wouldn’t overlook a 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 around her like bees around a hive, and certainly Ashley would be drawn from Melanie to join the circle of her admirers. Then somehow she would maneuver to get a few minutes alone with him, away from the crowd. She hoped everything would work out that way, because it would be more difficult otherwise. 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 men thronging 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 again by letting him discover that popular though she was, she preferred him above any other man in all the world. And when she admitted it, modestly and sweetly, she would look a thousand things more. Of course, she would do it all in a ladylike way. She wouldn’t even dream of saying to him boldly that she loved him—that would never do. But the manner of telling him was a detail that troubled 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 he realized 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 he was 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 her mind.

“I won’t think of that now,” she said firmly. “If I think of it now, it will upset me. There’s no reason 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 never told her that desire and attainment were two different matters; life had not taught her that the race was not to the swift. She lay in the silvery shadows with courage rising and made the plans that a sixteen-year-old makes when life has been so pleasant that defeat is an impossibility and a pretty dress and a clear complexion are weapons to vanquish fate.

第四章

那天吃晚饭时，思嘉因母亲不在代为主持了全部的用餐程序，但是她心中一起纷扰，说什么也放不下她所听到的关于艾希礼和媚兰的那个可怕的消息。她焦急地盼望母亲从斯莱特里家回来，因为母亲一不在场，她便感到孤单和迷惘了。

斯莱特里家和他们闹个不停的病痛，有什么权利就在她思嘉正那么迫切需要母亲的时候把爱伦从家中拉走呢？

这顿不愉快的晚餐自始自终只听见杰拉尔德那低沉的声音在耳边回响，直到她发觉自己已实在无法忍受了为止。他已经完全忘记了那天下午同思嘉的谈话，一个劲儿地在唱独脚戏，讲那个来自萨姆特要塞的最新消息，一面配合声调用拳头在餐桌上敲击，同时不停地挥舞臂膀。杰拉尔德已养成了餐桌上垄断谈话的习惯，但往往思嘉不去听他，只默默地琢磨自己的心事。可是今晚她再也挡不住他的声音了，不管她仍多么紧张地在倾听是否有马车辚辚声说明爱伦回来了。

当然，她并不想将自己心头的沉重负担向母亲倾诉，因为爱伦如果知道了她的女儿想嫁给一个已经同别人订婚的男人，一定会大为震惊和十分痛苦的。不过，她此刻正沉浸在一个前所未有的悲剧中，很需要母亲在一在场便能给予她的那点安慰，每当母亲在身边时，思嘉总觉得安全可靠，因为只要爱伦在，什么糟糕的事都可以弄得好好的。

一听到车道上吱吱的车轮声她便忽地站起身来，接着又坐下，因为马车显然已走到屋后院子里去了。那不可能是爱伦，她是会在前面台阶旁下车的。这时，从黑暗的院子里传来了黑人位兴奋的谈话声和尖利的笑声，思嘉朝窗外望去，看见刚才从屋里出去的波克高擎着一个火光熊熊的松枝火把，照着几个模糊的人影从大车上下来了。笑声和谈话声在黑沉沉的夜雾中时高时低，显得愉快、亲切、随便，这些声音有的沙破而缓和，有的如音乐般嘹亮。接着是后面走廊阶梯上嘈杂的脚步声，渐渐进入通向主楼的过道，直到餐厅外面的穿堂里才停止了。然后，经过片刻的耳语，波克进来了，他那严肃的神气已经消失，眼睛滴溜溜直转，一口雪白的牙齿闪闪发光。

“杰拉尔德先生，"他气喘吁吁地喊道，满脸焕发着新郎的喜气，"您新买的那个女人到了。”“新买的女人？我可不曾买过女人呀！"杰拉尔德声明，装出一副瞠目结舌的模样。

“是有，杰拉尔德先生！您买的，是的！她就在外面，要跟您说话呢。"波克回答说，激动得搓着两只手，吃吃地笑着。

“好，把新娘引进来，"杰拉尔德说。于是波克转过身去，招呼他老婆走进饭厅，这就是刚刚从威尔克斯农场赶来，要在塔拉农场当一名家属的那个女人。她进来了，后面跟随着她那个１２岁的女儿----她怯生生地紧挨着母亲的腿，几乎被那件肥大的印花布裙子给遮住了。

身材高大迪尔茜的腰背挺直。她的年纪从外表看不清楚，少到３０，多到６０，怎么都行。她那张呆板的紫铜色脸上还没有皱纹呢。她的面貌显然带有印第安人血统，这比非洲黑人的特征更为突出。她那红红的皮肤，窄而高的额头，高耸的颧骨，以及下端扁平的鹰钩鼻子（再下面是肥厚的黑人嘴唇），所以这些都说明她是两个种族的混种。她显得神态安祥，走路时的庄重气派甚至超过了嬷嬷，因为嬷嬷的气派是学来的，而迪尔茜却是生成的。

她说话的声音不像大多数黑人那样含糊不清，而且更注意选择字眼。

“小姐，您好。杰拉尔德先生，很抱歉打扰您了，不过俺要来再次谢谢您把俺和俺的孩子一起给买过来。有许多先生要买俺来着，可就不想把俺的百里茜也买下，这会叫俺伤心的。所以俺要谢谢您。俺要尽力给您干活儿，好让您知道俺没有忘记你的大德。”“嗯---- 嗯，"杰拉尔德应着，不好意思地清了清嗓子，因为他做的这番好事被当众揭开了。

迪尔茜转向思嘉，眼角皱了皱，仿佛露出了一丝微笑。

“思嘉小姐，波克告诉了俺，您要求杰拉尔德先生把俺买过来。

今儿个俺要把俺的百里茜送给您，做您的贴身丫头。"她伸手往后把那个小女孩拉了出来。那是个棕褐色的小家伙，两条腿细得像鸡脚，头上矗立着无数条用细绳精心缠住的小辫儿。她有一双尖利而懂事的、不会漏掉任何东西的眼�

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[table=80%,#ffffff,#ffc000,2][tr][td]CHAPTER III

ELLEN O’HARA was thirty-two years old, and, according to the standards of her day, she was a middle-aged woman, one who had borne six children and buried three. She was a tall woman, standing a head higher than her fiery little husband, but she moved with such quiet grace in her swaying hoops that the height attracted no attention to itself. Her neck, rising from the black taffeta sheath of her basque, was creamy-skinned, rounded and slender, and it seemed always tilted slightly backward by the weight of her luxuriant hair in its net at the back of her head. From her French mother, whose parents had fled Haiti in the Revolution of 1791, had come her slanting dark eyes, shadowed by inky lashes, and her black hair; and from her father, a soldier of Napoleon, she had her long straight nose and her square-cut jaw that was softened by the gentle curving of her cheeks. But only from life could Ellen’s face have acquired its look of pride that had no haughtiness, its graciousness, its melancholy and its utter lack of humor.

She would have been a strikingly beautiful woman had there been any glow in her eyes, any responsive warmth in her smile or any spontaneity in her voice that fell with gentle melody on the ears of her family and her servants. She spoke in the soft slurring voice of the coastal Georgian, liquid of vowels, kind to consonants and with the barest trace of French accent. It was a voice never raised in command to a servant or reproof to a child but a voice that was obeyed instantly at Tara, where her husband’s blustering and roaring were quietly disregarded.

As far back as Scarlett could remember, her mother had always been the same, her voice soft and sweet whether in praising or in reproving, her manner efficient and unruffled despite the daily emergencies of Gerald’s turbulent household, her spirit always calm and her back unbowed, even in the deaths of her three baby sons. Scarlett had never seen her mother’s back touch the back of any chair on which she sat. Nor had she ever seen her sit down without a bit of needlework in her hands, except at mealtime, while attending the sick or while working at the bookkeeping of the plantation. It was delicate embroidery if company were present, but at other times her hands were occupied with Gerald’s ruffled shirts, the girls’ dresses or garments for the slaves. Scarlett could not imagine her mother’s hands without her gold thimble or her rustling figure unaccompanied by the small negro girl whose sole function in life was to remove basting threads and carry the rosewood sewing box from room to room, as Ellen moved about the house superintending the cooking, the cleaning and the wholesale clothes-making for the plantation.

She had never seen her mother stirred from her austere placidity, nor her personal appointments anything but perfect, no matter what the hour of day or night. When Ellen was dressing for a ball or for guests or even to go to Jonesboro for Court Day, it frequently required two hours, two maids and Mammy to turn her out to her own satisfaction; but her swift toilets in times of emergency were amazing.

Scarlett, whose room lay across the hall from her mother’s, knew from babyhood the soft sound of scurrying bare black feet on the hardwood floor in the hours of dawn, the urgent tappings on her mother’s door, and the muffled, frightened negro voices that whispered of sickness and birth and death in the long row of whitewashed cabins in the quarters. As a child, she often had crept to the door and, peeping through the tiniest crack, had seen Ellen emerge from the dark room, where Gerald’s snores were rhythmic and untroubled, into the flickering light of an upheld candle, her medicine case under her arm, her hair smoothed neatly place, and no button on her basque unlooped.

It had always been so soothing to Scarlett to hear her mother whisper, firmly but compassionately, as she tiptoed down the hall: “Hush, not so loudly. You will wake Mr. O’Hara. They are not sick enough to die.”

Yes, it was good to creep back into bed and know that Ellen was abroad in the night and everything was right.

In the mornings, after all-night sessions at births and deaths, when old Dr. Fontaine and young Dr. Fontaine were both out on calls and could not be found to help her, Ellen presided at the breakfast table as usual, her dark eyes circled with weariness but her voice and manner revealing none of the strain. There was a steely quality under her stately gentleness that awed the whole household, Gerald as well as the girls, though he would have died rather than admit it.

Sometimes when Scarlett tiptoed at night to kiss her tall mother’s cheek, she looked up at the mouth with its too short, too tender upper lip, a mouth too easily hurt by the world, and wondered if it had ever curved in silly girlish giggling or whispered secrets through long nights to intimate girl friends. But no, that wasn’t possible. Mother had always been just as she was, a pillar of strength, a fount of wisdom, the one person who knew the answers to everything.

But Scarlett was wrong, for, years before, Ellen Robillard of Savannah had giggled as inexplicably as any fifteen-year-old in that charming coastal city and whispered the long nights through with friends, exchanging confidences, telling all secrets but one. That was the year when Gerald O’Hara, twenty-eight years older than she, came into her life—the year, too, when youth and her black-eyed cousin, Philippe Robillard, went out of it. For when Philippe, with his snapping eyes and his wild ways, left Savannah forever, he took with him the glow that was in Ellen’s heart and left for the bandy-legged little Irishman who married her only a gentle shell.

But that was enough for Gerald, overwhelmed at his unbelievable luck in actually marrying her. And if anything was gone from her, he never missed it. Shrewd man that he was, he knew that it was no less than a miracle that he, an Irishman with nothing of family and wealth to recommend him, should win the daughter of one of the wealthiest and proudest families on the Coast. For Gerald was a self-made man.

Gerald had come to America from Ireland when he was twenty-one. He had come hastily, as many a better and worse Irishman before and since, with the clothes he had on his back, two shillings above his passage money and a price on his head that he felt was larger than his misdeed warranted. There was no Orangeman this side of hell worth a hundred pounds to the British government or to the devil himself; but if the government felt so strongly about the death of an English absentee landlord’s rent agent, it was time for Gerald O’Hara to be leaving and leaving suddenly. True, he had called the rent agent “a bastard of an Orangeman,” but that, according to Gerald’s way of looking at it, did not give the man any right to insult him by whistling the opening bars of “The Boyne Water.”

The Battle of the Boyne had been fought more than a hundred years before, but, to the O’Haras and their neighbors, it might have been yesterday when their hopes and their dreams, as well as their lands and wealth, went off in the same cloud of dust that enveloped a frightened and fleeing Stuart prince, leaving William of Orange and his hated troops with their orange cockades to cut down the Irish adherents of the Stuarts.

For this and other reasons, Gerald’s family was not inclined to view the fatal outcome of this quarrel as anything very serious, except for the fact that it was charged with serious consequences. For years, the O’Haras had been in bad odor with the English constabulary on account of suspected activities against the government, and Gerald was not the first O’Hara to take his foot in his hand and quit Ireland between dawn and morning. His two oldest brothers, James and Andrew, he hardly remembered, save as close-lipped youths who came and went at odd hours of the night on mysterious errands or disappeared for weeks at a time, to their mother’s gnawing anxiety. They had come to America years before, after the discovery of a small arsenal of rifles buried under the O’Hara pigsty. Now they were successful merchants in Savannah, “though the dear God alone knows where that may be,” as their mother always interpolated when mentioning the two oldest of her male brood, and it was to them that young Gerald was sent.

He left home with his mother’s hasty kiss on his cheek and her fervent Catholic blessing in his ears, and his father’s parting admonition, “Remember who ye are and don’t be taking nothing off no man.” His five tall brothers gave him good-by with admiring but slightly patronizing smiles, for Gerald was the baby and the little one of a brawny family.

His five brothers and their father stood six feet and over and broad in proportion, but little Gerald, at twenty-one, knew that five feet four and a half inches was as much as the Lord in His wisdom was going to allow him. It was like Gerald that he never wasted regrets on his lack of height and never found it an obstacle to his acquisition of anything he wanted. Rather, it was Gerald’s compact smallness that made him what he was, for he had learned early that little people must be hardy to survive among large ones. And Gerald was hardy.

His tall brothers were a grim, quiet lot, in whom the family tradition of past glories, lost forever, rankled in unspoken hate and crackled out in bitter humor. Had Gerald been brawny, he would have gone the way of the other O’Haras and moved quietly and darkly among the rebels against the government But Gerald was “loud-mouthed and bullheaded,” as his mother fondly phrased it, hair trigger of temper, quick with his fists and possessed of a chip on his shoulder so large as to be almost visible to the naked eye. He swaggered among the tall O’Haras like a strutting bantam in a barnyard of giant Cochin roosters, and they loved him, baited him affectionately to hear him roar and hammered on him with their large fists no more than was necessary to keep a baby brother in his proper place.

If the educational equipment which Gerald brought to America was scant, he did not even know it. Nor would he have cared if he had been told. His mother had taught him to read and to write a clear hand. He was adept at ciphering. And there his book knowledge stopped. The only Latin he knew was the responses of the Mass and the only history the manifold wrongs of Ireland. He knew no poetry save that of Moore and no music except the songs of Ireland that had come down through the years. While he entertained the liveliest respect for those who had more book learning than he, he never felt his own lack. And what need had he of these things in a new country where the most ignorant of bogtrotters had made great fortunes? in this country which asked only that a man be strong and unafraid of work?

Nor did James and Andrew, who took him into their store in Savannah, regret his lack of education. His clear hand, his accurate figures and his shrewd ability in bargaining won their respect, where a knowledge of literature and a fine appreciation of music, had young Gerald possessed them, would have moved them to snorts of contempt. America, in the early years of the century, had been kind to the Irish. James and Andrew, who had begun by hauling goods in covered wagons from Savannah to Georgia’s inland towns, had prospered into a store of their own, and Gerald prospered with them.

He liked the South, and he soon became, in his own opinion, a Southerner. There was much about the South—and Southerners—that he would never comprehend; but, with the wholeheartedness that was his nature, he adopted its ideas and customs, as he understood them, for his own—poker and horse racing, red-hot politics and the code duello, States’ Rights and damnation to all Yankees, slavery and King Cotton, contempt for white trash and exaggerated courtesy to women. He even learned to chew tobacco. There was no need for him to acquire a good head for whisky, he had been born with one.

But Gerald remained Gerald. His habits of living and his ideas changed, but his manners he would not change, even had he been able to change them. He admired the drawling elegance of the wealthy rice and cotton planters, who rode into Savannah from their moss-hung kingdoms, mounted on thoroughbred horses and followed by the carriages of their equally elegant ladies and the wagons of their slaves. But Gerald could never attain elegance. Their lazy, blurred voices fell pleasantly on his ears, but his own brisk brogue clung to his tongue. He liked the casual grace with which they conducted affairs of importance, risking a fortune, a plantation or a slave on the turn of a card and writing off their losses with careless good humor and no more ado than when they scattered pennies to pickaninnies. But Gerald had known poverty, and he could never learn to lose money with good humor or good grace. They were a pleasant race, these coastal Georgians, with their soft-voiced, quick rages and their charming inconsistencies, and Gerald liked them. But there was a brisk and restless vitality about the young Irishman, fresh from a country where winds blew wet and chill, where misty swamps held no fevers, that set him apart from these indolent gentle-folk of semi-tropical weather and malarial marshes.

From them he learned what he found useful, and the rest he dismissed. He found poker the most useful of all Southern customs, poker and a steady head for whisky; and it was his natural aptitude for cards and amber liquor that brought to Gerald two of his three most prized possessions, his valet and his plantation. The other was his wife, and he could only attribute her to the mysterious kindness of God.

The, valet. Pork by name, shining black, dignified and trained in all the arts of sartorial elegance, was the result of an all-night poker game with a planter from St. Simons Island, whose courage in a bluff equaled Gerald’s but whose head for New Orleans rum did not. Though Pork’s former owner later offered to buy him back at twice his value, Gerald obstinately refused, for the possession of his first slave, and that slave the “best damn valet on the Coast,” was the first step upward toward his heart’s desire, Gerald wanted to be a slave owner and a landed gentleman.

His mind was made up that he was not going to spend all of his days, like Tames and Andrew, in bargaining, or all his nights, by candlelight, over long columns of figures. He felt keenly, as his brothers did not, the social stigma attached to those “in trade.” Gerald wanted to be a planter. With the deep hunger of an Irishman who has been a tenant on the lands his people once had owned and hunted, he wanted to see his own acres stretching green before his eyes. With a ruthless singleness of purpose, he desired his own house, his own plantation, his own horse, his own slaves. And here in this new country, safe from the twin perils of the land he had left—taxation that ate up crops and barns and the ever-present threat of sudden confiscation—he intended to have them. But having that ambition and bringing it to realization were two different matters, he discovered as time went by. Coastal Georgia was too firmly held by an entrenched aristocracy for him ever to hope to win the place he intended to have.

Then the hand of Fate and a hand of poker combined to give him the plantation which he afterwards called Tara, and at the same time moved him out of the Coast into the upland country of north Georgia.

It was in a saloon in Savannah, on a hot night in spring, when the chance conversation of a stranger sitting near by made Gerald prick up his ears. The stranger, a native of Savannah, had just returned after twelve years in the inland country. He had been one of the winners in the land lottery conducted by the State to divide up the vast area in middle Georgia, ceded by the Indians the year before Gerald came to America. He had gone up there and established a plantation; but, now the house had burned down, he was tired of the “accursed place” and would be most happy to get it off his hands.

Gerald, his mind never free of the thought of owning a plantation of his own, arranged an introduction, and his interest grew as the stranger told how the northern section of the state was filling up with newcomers from the Carolinas and Virginia. Gerald had lived in Savannah long enough to acquire a viewpoint of the Coast—that all of the rest of the state was backwoods, with an Indian lurking in every thicket. In transacting business for O’Hara Brothers, he had visited Augusta, a hundred miles up the Savannah River, and he had traveled inland far enough to visit the old towns westward from that city. He knew that section to be as well settled as the Coast, but from the stranger’s description, his plantation was more than two hundred and fifty miles inland from Savannah to the north and west, and not many miles south of the Chattahoochee River. Gerald knew that northward beyond that stream the land was still held by the Cherokees, so it was with amazement that he heard the stranger jeer at suggestions of trouble with the Indians and narrate how thriving towns were growing up and plantations prospering in the new country.

An hour later when the conversation began to lag, Gerald, with a guile that belied the wide innocence of his bright blue eyes, proposed a game. As the night wore on and the drinks went round, there came a time when all the others in the game laid down their hands and Gerald and the stranger were battling alone. The stranger shoved in all his chips and followed with the deed to his plantation. Gerald shoved in all his chips and laid on top of them his wallet. If the money it contained happened to belong to the firm of O’Hara Brothers, Gerald’s conscience was not sufficiently troubled to confess it before Mass the following morning. He knew what he wanted, and when Gerald wanted something he gained it by taking the most direct route. Moreover, such was his faith in his destiny and four deuces that he never for a moment wondered just how the money would be paid back should a higher hand be laid down across the table.

“It’s no bargain you’re getting and I am glad not to have to pay more taxes on the place,” sighed the possessor of an “ace full,” as he called for pen and ink. “The big house burned a year ago and the fields are growing up in brush and seedling pine. But it’s yours.”

“Never mix cards and whisky unless you were weaned on Irish poteen,” Gerald told Pork gravely the same evening, as Pork assisted him to bed. And the valet, who had begun to attempt a brogue out of admiration for his new master, made requisite answer in a combination of Geechee and County Meath that would have puzzled anyone except those two alone.

The muddy Flint River, running silently between walls of pine and water oak covered with tangled vines, wrapped about Gerald’s new land like a curving arm and embraced it on two sides. To Gerald, standing on the small knoll where the house had been, this tall barrier of green was as visible and pleasing an evidence of ownership as though it were a fence that he himself had built to mark his own. He stood on the blackened foundation stones of the burned building, looked down the long avenue of trees leading toward the road and swore lustily, with a joy too deep for thankful prayer. These twin lines of somber trees were his, his the abandoned lawn, waist high in weeds under white-starred young magnolia trees. The uncultivated fields, studded with tiny pines and underbrush, that stretched their rolling red-clay surface away into the distance on four sides belonged to Gerald O’Hara—were all his because he had an unbefuddled Irish head and the courage to stake everything on a hand of cards.

Gerald closed his eyes and, in the stillness of the unworked acres, he felt that he had come home. Here under his feet would rise a house of whitewashed brick. Across the road would be new rail fences, inclosing fat cattle and blooded horses, and the red earth that rolled down the hillside to the rich river bottom land would gleam white as eiderdown in the sun—cotton; acres and acres of cotton! The fortunes of the O’Haras would rise again.

With his own small stake, what he could borrow from his unenthusiastic brothers and a neat sum from mortgaging the land, Gerald bought his first field hands and came to Tara to live in bachelor solitude in the four-room overseer’s house, till such a time as the white walls of Tara should rise.

He cleared the fields and planted cotton and borrowed more money from James and Andrew to buy more slaves. The O’Haras were a clannish tribe, clinging to one another in prosperity as well as in adversity, not for any overweening family affection but because they had learned through grim years that to survive a family must present an unbroken front to the world. They lent Gerald the money and, in the years that followed, the money came back to them with interest. Gradually the plantation widened out, as Gerald bought more acres lying near him, and in time the white house became a reality instead of a dream.

It was built by slave labor, a clumsy sprawling building that crowned the rise of ground overlooking the green incline of pasture land running down to the river; and it pleased Gerald greatly, for, even when new, it wore a look of mellowed years. The old oaks, which had seen Indians pass under their limbs, hugged the house closely with their great trunks and towered their branches over the roof in dense shade. The lawn, reclaimed from weeds, grew thick with clover and Bermuda grass, and Gerald saw to it that it was well kept. From the avenue of cedars to the row of white cabins in the slave quarters, there was an air of solidness, of stability and permanence about Tara, and whenever Gerald galloped around the bend in the road and saw his own roof rising through green branches, his heart swelled with pride as though each sight of it were the first sight.

He had done it all, little, hard-headed, blustering Gerald.

Gerald, was on excellent terms with all his neighbors in the County, except the MacIntoshs whose land adjoined his on the left and the Slatterys whose meager three acres stretched on his right along the swamp bottoms between the river and John Wilkes’ plantation.

The MacIntoshs were Scotch-Irish and Orangemen and, had they possessed all the saintly qualities of the Catholic calendar, this ancestry would have damned them forever in Gerald’s eyes. True, they had lived in Georgia for seventy years and, before that, had spent a generation in the Carolinas; but the first of the family who set foot on American shores had come from Ulster, and that was enough for Gerald.

They were a close-mouthed and stiff-necked family, who kept strictly to themselves and intermarried with their Carolina relatives, and Gerald was not alone in disliking them, for the County people were neighborly and sociable and none too tolerant of anyone lacking in those same qualities. Rumors of Abolitionist sympathies did not enhance the popularity of the Macintoshes. Old Angus had never manumitted a single slave and had committed the unpardonable social breach of selling some of his negroes to passing slave traders en route to the cane fields of Louisiana, but the rumors persisted.

“He’s an Abolitionist, no doubt,” observed Gerald to John Wilkes. “But, in an Orangeman, when a principle comes up against Scotch tightness, the principle fares ill.”

The Slatterys were another affair. Being poor white, they were not even accorded the” grudging respect that Angus Macintosh’s dour independence wrung from neighboring families. Old Slattery, who clung persistently to his few acres, in spite of repeated offers from Gerald and John Wilkes, was shiftless and whining. His wife was a snarly-haired woman, sickly and washed-out of appearance, the mother of a brood of sullen and rabbity-looking children—a brood which was increased regularly every year. Tom Slattery owned no slaves, and he and his two oldest boys spasmodically worked their few acres of cotton, while the wife and younger children tended what was supposed to be a vegetable garden. But, somehow, the cotton always failed, and the garden, due to Mrs. Slattery’s constant childbearing, seldom furnished enough to feed her flock.

The sight of Tom Slattery dawdling on his neighbors’ porches, begging cotton seed for planting or a side of bacon to “tide him over,” was a familiar one. Slattery hated his neighbors with what little energy he possessed, sensing their contempt beneath their courtesy, and especially did he hate “rich folks’ uppity niggers.” The house negroes of the County considered themselves superior to white trash, and their unconcealed scorn stung him, while their more secure position in life stirred his envy. By contrast with his own miserable existence, they were well-fed, well-clothed and looked after in sickness and old age. They were proud of the good names of their owners and, for the most part, proud to belong to people who were quality, while he was despised by all.

Tom Slattery could have sold his farm for three times its value to any of the planters in the County. They would have considered it money well spent to rid the community of an eyesore, but he was well satisfied to remain and to subsist miserably on the proceeds of a bale of cotton a year and the charity of his neighbors.

With all the rest of the County, Gerald was on terms of amity and some intimacy. The Wilkeses, the Calverts, the Tarletons, the Fontaines, all smiled when the small figure on the big white horse galloped up their driveways, smiled and signaled for tall glasses in which a pony of Bourbon had been poured over a teaspoon of sugar and a sprig of crushed mint. Gerald was likable, and the neighbors learned in time what the children, negroes and dogs discovered at first sight, that a kind heart, a ready and sympathetic ear and an open pocketbook lurked just behind his. bawling voice and his truculent manner.

His arrival was always amid a bedlam of hounds barking and small black children shouting as they raced to meet him, quarreling for the privilege of holding his horse and squirming and grinning under his good-natured insults. The white children clamored to sit on his knee and be trotted, while he denounced to their elders the infamy of Yankee politicians; the daughters of his friends took him into their confidence about their love affairs, and the youths of the neighborhood, fearful of confessing debts of honor upon the carpets of their fathers, found him a friend in need.

“So, you’ve been owning this for a month, you young rascal!” he would shout “And, in God’s name, why haven’t you been asking me for the money before this?”

His rough manner of speech was too well known to give offense, and it only made the young men grin sheepishly and reply: “Well, sir, I hated to trouble you, and my father—”

“Your father’s a good man, and no denying it, but strict, and so take this and let’s be hearing no more of it”

The planters’ ladies were the last to capitulate. But, when Mrs. Wilkes, “a great lady and with a rare gift for silence,” as Gerald characterized her, told her husband one evening, after Gerald’s horse had pounded down the driveway. “He has a rough tongue, but he is a gentleman,” Gerald had definitely arrived.

He did not know that he had taken nearly ten years to arrive, for it never occurred to him that his neighbors had eyed him askance at first. In his own mind, there had never been any doubt that he belonged, from the moment he first set foot on Tara.

When Gerald was forty-three, so thickset of body and florid of face that he looked like a hunting squire out of a sporting print, it came to him that Tara, dear though it was, and the County folk, with their open hearts and open houses, were not enough. He wanted a wife.

Tara cried out for a mistress. The fat cook, a yard negro elevated by necessity to the kitchen, never had the meals on time, and the chambermaid, formerly a field hand, let dust accumulate on the furniture and never seemed to have clean linen on hand, so that the arrival of guests was always the occasion of much stirring and to-do. Pork, the only trained house negro on the place, had general supervision over the other servants, but even he had grown slack and careless after several years of exposure to Gerald’s happy-go-lucky mode of living. As valet, he kept Gerald’s bedroom in order, and, as butler, he served the meals with dignity and style, but otherwise he pretty well let matters follow their own course.

With unerring African instinct, the negroes had all discovered that Gerald had a loud bark and no bite at all, and they took shameless advantage of him. The air was always thick with threats of selling slaves south and of direful whippings, but there never had been a slave sold from Tara and only one whipping, and that administered for not grooming down Gerald’s pet horse after, a long day’s hunting.

Gerald’s sharp blue eyes noticed how efficiently his neighbors’ houses were run and with what ease the smooth-haired wives in rustling skirts managed their servants. He had no knowledge of the dawn-till-midnight activities of these women, chained to supervision of cooking, nursing, sewing and laundering. He only saw the outward results, and those results impressed him.

The urgent need of a wife became clear to him one morning when he was dressing to ride to town for Court Day. Pork brought forth his favorite ruffled shirt, so inexpertly mended by the chambermaid as to be unwearable by anyone except his valet

“Mist’ Gerald,” said Pork, gratefully rolling up the shirt as Gerald fumed, “whut you needs is a wife, and a wife whut has got plen’y of house niggers.”

Gerald upbraided Pork for his impertinence, hut he knew that he was right He wanted a wife and he wanted children and, if he did not acquire them soon, it would be too late. But he was not going to marry just anyone, as Mr. Calvert had done, taking to wife the Yankee governess of his motherless children. His wife must be a lady and a lady of blood, with as many airs and graces as Mrs. Wilkes and the ability to manage Tara as well as Mrs. Wilkes ordered her own domain.

But there were two difficulties in the way of marriage into the County families. The first was the scarcity of girls of marriageable age. The second, and more serious one, was that Gerald was a “new man,” despite his nearly ten years’ residence, and a foreigner. No one knew anything about his family. While the society of up-country Georgia was not so impregnable as that of the Coast aristocrats, no family wanted a daughter to wed a man about whose grandfather nothing was known.

Gerald knew that despite the genuine liking of the County men with whom he hunted, drank and talked politics there was hardly one whose daughter he could marry. And he did not intend to have it gossiped about over supper tables that this, that or the other father had regretfully refused to let Gerald O’Hara pay court to his daughter. This knowledge did not make Gerald feel inferior to his neighbors: Nothing could ever make Gerald feel that he was inferior in any way to anyone. It was merely a quaint custom of the County that daughters only married into families who had lived in the South much longer than twenty-two years, had owned land and slaves and been addicted only to the fashionable vices during that time.

“Pack up. We’re going to Savannah,” he told Pork. “And if I hear you say ‘Whist!’ or ‘Faith!’ but once, it’s selling you I’ll be doing, for they are words I seldom say meself.”

James and Andrew might have some advice to offer on this subject of marriage, and there might be daughters among their old friends who would both meet his requirements and find him acceptable as a husband. James and Andrew listened to his story patiently but they gave him little encouragement. They had no Savannah relatives to whom they might look for assistance, for they had been married when they came to America. And the daughters of their old friends had long since married and were raising small children of their own.

“You’re not a rich man and you haven’t a great family,” said James.

“I’ve made me money and I can make a great family. And I won’t be marrying just anyone.”

“You fly high,” observed Andrew, dryly.

But they did their best for Gerald. James and Andrew were old men and they stood well

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[table=80%,#ffffff,#ffc000,2][tr][td]CHAPTER II

WHEN THE TWINS left Scarlett standing on the porch of Tara and the last sound of flying hooves had died away, she went back to her chair like a sleepwalker. Her face felt stiff as from pain and her mouth actually hurt from having stretched it, unwillingly, in smiles to prevent the twins from learning her secret. She sat down wearily, tucking one foot under her, and her heart swelled up with misery, until it felt too large for her bosom. It beat with odd little jerks; her hands were cold, and a feeling of disaster oppressed her. There were pain and bewilderment in her face, the bewilderment of a pampered child who has always had her own way for the asking and who now, for the first time, was in contact with the unpleasantness of life.

Ashley to marry Melanie Hamilton!

Oh, it couldn’t be true! The twins were mistaken. They were playing one of their jokes on her. Ashley couldn’t, couldn’t be in love with her. Nobody could, not with a mousy little person like Melanie. Scarlett recalled with contempt Melanie’s thin childish figure, her serious heart-shaped face that was plain almost to homeliness. And Ashley couldn’t have seen her in months. He hadn’t been in Atlanta more than twice since the house party he gave last year at Twelve Oaks. No, Ashley couldn’t be in love with Melanie, because—oh, she couldn’t be mistaken!—because he was in love with her! She, Scarlett, was the one he loved—she knew it!

Scarlett heard Mammy’s lumbering tread shaking the floor of the hall and she hastily untucked her foot and tried to rearrange her face in more placid lines. It would never do for Mammy to suspect that anything was wrong. Mammy felt that she owned the O’Haras, body and soul, that their secrets were her secrets; and even a hint of a mystery was enough to set her upon the trail as relentlessly as a bloodhound. Scarlett knew from experience that, if Mammy’s curiosity were not immediately satisfied, she would take up the matter with Ellen, and then Scarlett would be forced to reveal everything to her mother, or think up some plausible lie.

Mammy emerged from the hall, a huge old woman with the small, shrewd eyes of an elephant. She was shining black, pure African, devoted to her last drop of blood to the O’Haras, Ellen’s mainstay, the despair of her three daughters, the terror of the other house servants. Mammy was black, but her code of conduct and her sense of pride were as high as or higher than those of her owners. She had been raised in the bedroom of Solange Robillard, Ellen O’Hara’s mother, a dainty, cold, high-nosed Frenchwoman, who spared neither her children nor her servants their just punishment for any infringement of decorum. She had been Ellen’s mammy and had come with her from Savannah to the up-country when she married. Whom Mammy loved, she chastened. And, as her love for Scarlett and her pride in her were enormous, the chastening process was practically continuous.

“Is de gempmum gone? Huccome you din’ ast dem ter stay fer supper, Miss Scarlett? Ah done tole Poke ter lay two extry plates fer dem. Whar’s yo’ manners?”

“Oh, I was so tired of hearing them talk about the war that I couldn’t have endured it through supper, especially with Pa joining in and shouting about Mr. Lincoln.”

“You ain” got no mo’ manners dan a fe’el han’, an’ affer Miss Ellen an’ me done labored wid you. An’ hyah you is widout yo’ shawl! An’ de night air fixin’ ter set in! Ah done tole you an’ tole you ‘bout gittin’ fever frum settin’ in de night air wid nuthin’ on yo’ shoulders. Come on in de house, Miss Scarlett.”

Scarlett turned away from Mammy with studied nonchalance, thankful that her face had been unnoticed in Mammy’s preoccupation with the matter of the shawl.

“No, I want to sit here and watch the sunset. It’s so pretty. You run get my shawl. Please, Mammy, and I’ll sit here till Pa comes home.”

“Yo’ voice soun’ lak you catchin’ a cole,” said Mammy suspiciously.

“Well, I’m not,” said Scarlett Impatiently. “You fetch me my shawl.”

Mammy waddled back into the hall and Scarlett heard her call softly up the stairwell to the upstairs maid.

“You, Rosa! Drap me Miss Scarlett’s shawl.” Then, more loudly: “Wuthless nigger! She ain’ never whar she does nobody no good. Now, Ah got ter climb up an’ git it mahseff.”

Scarlett heard the stairs groan and she got softly to her feet. When Mammy returned she would resume her lecture on Scarlett’s breach of hospitality, and Scarlett felt that she could not endure prating about such a trivial matter when her heart was breaking. As she stood, hesitant, wondering where she could hide until the ache in her breast subsided a little, a thought came to her, bringing a small ray of hope. Her father had ridden over to Twelve Oaks, the Wilkes plantation, that afternoon to offer to buy Dilcey, the broad wife of his valet, Pork. Dilcey was head woman and midwife at Twelve Oaks, and, since the marriage six months ago, Pork had deviled his master night and day to buy Dilcey, so the two could live on the same plantation. That afternoon, Gerald, his resistance worn thin, had set out to make an offer for Dilcey.

Surely, thought Scarlett, Pa will know whether this awful story is true. Even if he hasn’t actually heard anything this afternoon, perhaps he’s noticed something, sensed some excitement in the Wilkes family. If I can just see him privately before supper, perhaps I’ll find out the truth—that it’s just one of the twins’ nasty practical jokes.

It was time for Gerald’s return and, if she expected to see him alone, there was nothing for her to do except meet him where the driveway entered the road. She went quietly down the front steps, looking carefully over her shoulder to make sure Mammy was not observing her from the upstairs windows. Seeing no broad black face, turbaned in snowy white, peering disapprovingly from between fluttering curtains, she boldly snatched up her green flowered skirts and sped down the path toward the driveway as fast as her small ribbon-laced slippers would carry her.

The dark cedars on either side of the graveled drive met in an arch overhead, turning the long avenue into a dim tunnel. As soon as she was beneath the gnarled arms of the cedars, she knew she was safe from observation from the house and she slowed her swift pace. She was panting, for her stays were laced too tightly to permit much running, but she walked on as rapidly as she could. Soon she was at the end of the driveway and out on the main road, but she did not stop until she had rounded a curve that put a large clump of trees between her and the house.

Flushed and breathing hard, she sat down on a stump to wait for her father. It was past time for him to come home, but she was glad that he was late. The delay would give her time to quiet her breathing and calm her face so that his suspicions would not be aroused. Every moment she expected to hear the pounding of his horse’s hooves and see him come charging up the hill at his usual breakneck speed. But the minutes slipped by and Gerald did not come. She looked down the road for him, the pain in her heart swelling up again.

“Oh, it can’t be true!” she thought. “Why doesn’t he come?”

Her eyes followed the winding road, blood-red now after the morning rain. In her thought she traced its course as it ran down the hill to the sluggish Flint River, through the tangled swampy bottoms and up the next hill to Twelve Oaks where Ashley lived. That was all the road meant now—a road to Ashley and the beautiful white-columned house that crowned the hill like a Greek Temple.

“Oh, Ashley! Ashley!” she thought, and her heart beat faster.

Some of the cold sense of bewilderment and disaster that had weighted her down since the Tarleton boys told her their gossip was pushed into the background of her mind, and in its place crept the fever that had possessed her for two years.

It seemed strange now that when she was growing up Ashley had never seemed so very attractive to her. In childhood days, she had seen him come and go and never given him a thought. But since that day two years ago when Ashley, newly home from his three years’ Grand Tour in Europe, had called to pay his respects, she had loved him. It was as simple as that.

She had been on the front porch and he had ridden up the long avenue, dressed in gray broadcloth with a wide black cravat setting off his frilled shirt to perfection. Even now, she could recall each detail of his dress, how brightly his boots shone, the head of a Medusa in cameo on his cravat phi, the wide Panama hat that was instantly in his hand when he saw her. He had alighted and tossed his bridle reins to a pickaninny and stood looking up at her, his drowsy gray eyes wide with a smile and the sun so bright on his blond hair that it seemed like a cap of shining silver. And he said, “So you’ve grown up, Scarlett.” And, coming lightly up the steps, he had kissed her hand. And his voice! She would never forget the leap of her heart as she heard it, as if for the first time, drawling, resonant, musical.

She had wanted him, in that first instant, wanted him as simply and unreasoningly as she wanted food to eat, horses to ride and a soft bed on which to lay herself.

For two years he had squired her about the County, to balls, fish fries, picnics and court days, never so often as the Tarleton twins or Cade Calvert, never so importunate as the younger Fontaine boys, but, still, never the week went by that Ashley did not come calling at Tara.

True, he never made love to her, nor did the clear gray eyes ever glow with that hot light Scarlett knew so well in other men. And yet—and yet—she knew he loved her. She could not be mistaken about it. Instinct stronger than reason and knowledge born of experience told her that he loved her. Too often she had surprised him when his eyes were neither drowsy nor remote, when he looked at her with a yearning and a sadness which puzzled her. She knew he loved her. Why did he not tell her so? That she could not understand. But there were so many things about him that she did not understand.

He was courteous always, but aloof, remote. No one could ever tell what he was thinking about, Scarlett least of all. In a neighborhood where everyone said exactly what he thought as soon as he thought it, Ashley’s quality of reserve was exasperating. He was as proficient as any of the other young men in the usual County diversions, hunting, gambling, dancing and politics, and was the best rider of them all; but he differed from all the rest in that these pleasant activities were not the end and aim of life to him. And he stood alone in his interest in books and music and his fondness for writing poetry.

Oh, why was he so handsomely blond, so courteously aloof, so maddeningly boring with his talk about Europe and books and music and poetry and things that interested her not at all—and yet so desirable? Night after night, when Scarlett went to bed after sitting on the front porch in the semi-darkness with him, she tossed restlessly for hours and comforted herself only with the thought that the very next time he saw her he certainly would propose. But the next time came and went, and the result was nothing—nothing except that the fever possessing her rose higher and hotter.

She loved him and she wanted him and she did not understand him. She was as forthright and simple as the winds that blew over Tara and the yellow river that wound about it, and to the end of her days she would never be able to understand a complexity. And now, for the first time in her life, she was facing a complex nature.

For Ashley was born of a line of men who used their leisure for thinking, not doing, for spinning brightly colored dreams that had in them no touch of reality. He moved in an inner world that was more beautiful than Georgia and came back to reality with reluctance. He looked on people, and he neither liked nor disliked them. He looked on life and was neither heartened nor saddened. He accepted the universe and his place in it for what they were and, shrugging, turned to his music and books and his better world.

Why he should have captivated Scarlett when his mind was a stranger to hers she did not know. The very mystery of him excited her curiosity like a door that had neither lock nor key. The things about him which she could not understand only made her love him more, and his odd, restrained courtship only served to increase her determination to have him for her own. That he would propose some day she had never doubted, for she was too young and too spoiled ever to have known defeat. And now, like a thunderclap, had come this horrible news. Ashley to marry Melanie! It couldn’t be true!

Why, only last week, when they were riding home at twilight from Fairhill, he had said: “Scarlett, I have something so important to tell you that I hardly know how to say it.”

She had cast down her eyes demurely, her heart beating with wild pleasure, thinking the happy moment had come. Then he had said: “Not now! We’re nearly home and there isn’t time. Oh, Scarlett, what a coward I am!” And putting spurs to his horse, he had raced her up the hill to Tara.

Scarlett, sitting on the stump, thought of those words which had made her so happy, and suddenly they took on another meaning, a hideous meaning. Suppose it was the news of his engagement he had intended to tell her!

Oh, if Pa would only come home! She could not endure the suspense another moment She looked impatiently down the road again, and again she was disappointed. The sun was now below the horizon and the red glow at the rim of the world faded into pink. The sky above turned slowly from azure to the delicate blue-green of a robin’s egg, and the unearthly stillness of rural twilight came stealthily down about her. Shadowy dimness crept over the countryside. The red furrows and the gashed red road lost their magical blood color and became plain brown earth. Across the road, in the pasture, the horses, mules and cows stood quietly with heads over the split-rail fence, waiting to be driven to the stables and supper. They did not like the dark shade of the thickets hedging the pasture creek, and they twitched their ears at Scarlett as if appreciative of human companionship.

In the strange half-light, the tall pines of the river swamp, so warmly green in the sunshine, were black against the pastel sky, an impenetrable row of black giants hiding the slow yellow water at their feet. On the hill across the river, the tall white chimneys of the Wilkes, home faded gradually into the darkness of the thick oaks surrounding them, and only far-off pin points of supper lamps showed that a house was here. The warm damp balminess of spring encompassed her sweetly with the moist smells of new-plowed earth and all the fresh green things pushing up to the air.

Sunset and spring and new-fledged greenery were no miracle to Scarlett. Their beauty she accepted as casually as the air she breathed and the water she drank, for she had never consciously seen beauty in anything bat women’s faces, horses, silk dresses and like tangible things. Yet the serene half-light over Tara’s well-kept acres brought a measure of quiet to her disturbed mind. She loved this land so much, without even knowing she loved it, loved it as she loved her mother’s face under the lamp at prayer time.

Still there was no sign of Gerald on the quiet winding road. If she had to wait much longer, Mammy would certainly come in search of her and bully her into the house. But even as she strained her eyes down the darkening road, she heard a pounding of hooves at the bottom of the pasture hill and saw the horses and cows scatter in fright. Gerald O’Hara was coming home across country and at top speed.

He came up the hill at a gallop on his thick-barreled, long-legged hunter, appearing in the distance like a boy on a too large horse. His long white hair standing out behind him, he urged the horse forward with crop and loud cries.

Filled with her own anxieties, she nevertheless watched him with affectionate pride, for Gerald was an excellent horseman.

“I wonder why he always wants to jump fences when he’s had a few drinks,” she thought. “And after that fall he had right here last year when he broke his knee. You’d think he’d learn. Especially when he promised Mother on oath he’d never jump again.”

Scarlett had no awe of her father and felt him more her contemporary than her sisters, for jumping fences and keeping it a secret from his wife gave him a boyish pride and guilty glee that matched her own pleasure in outwitting Mammy. She rose from her seat to watch him.

The big horse reached the fence, gathered himself and soared over as effortlessly as a bird, his rider yelling enthusiastically, his crop beating the air, his white curls jerking out behind him. Gerald did not see his daughter in the shadow of the trees, and he drew rein in the road, patting his horse’s neck with approbation.

“There’s none in the County can touch you, nor in the state,” he informed his mount, with pride, the brogue of County Meath still heavy on his tongue in spite of thirty-nine years in America. Then he hastily set about smoothing his hair and settling his ruffled shirt and his cravat which had slipped awry behind one ear. Scarlett knew these hurried preenings were being made with an eye toward meeting his wife with the appearance of a gentleman who had ridden sedately home from a call on a neighbor. She knew also that he was presenting her with just the opportunity she wanted for opening the conversation without revealing her true purpose.

She laughed aloud. As she had intended, Gerald was startled by the sound; then he recognized her, and a look both sheepish and defiant came over his florid face. He dismounted with difficulty, because his knee was stiff, and, slipping the reins over his arm, stumped toward her.

“Well, Missy,” he said, pinching her cheek, “so, you’ve been spying on me and, like your sister Suellen last week, you’ll be telling your mother on me?”

There was indignation in his hoarse bass voice but also a wheedling note, and Scarlett teasingly clicked her tongue against her teeth as she reached out to pull his cravat into place. His breath in her face was strong with Bourbon whisky mingled with a faint fragrance of mint. Accompanying him also were the smells of chewing tobacco, well-oiled leather and horses—a combination of odors that she always associated with her father and instinctively liked in other men.

“No, Pa, I’m no tattletale like Suellen,” she assured him, standing off to view his rearranged attire with a judicious air.

Gerald was a small man, little more than five feet tall, but so heavy of barrel and thick of neck that his appearance, when seated, led strangers to think him a larger man. His thickset torso was supported by short sturdy legs, always incased in the finest leather boots procurable and always planted wide apart like a swaggering small boy’s. Most small people who take themselves seriously are a little ridiculous; but the bantam cock is respected in the barnyard, and so it was with Gerald. No one would ever have the temerity to think of Gerald O’Hara as a ridiculous little figure.

He was sixty years old and his crisp curly hair was silver-white, but his shrewd face was unlined and his hard little blue eyes were young with the unworried youthfulness of one who has never taxed his brain with problems more abstract than how many cards to draw in a poker game. His was as Irish a face as could be found in the length and breadth of the homeland he had left so long ago—round, high colored, short nosed, wide mouthed and belligerent.

Beneath his choleric exterior Gerald O’Hara had the tenderest of hearts.” He could not bear to see a slave pouting under a reprimand, ho matter how well deserved, or hear a kitten mewing or a child crying; but he had a horror of having this weakness discovered. That everyone who met him did discover his kindly heart within five minutes was unknown to him; and his vanity would have suffered tremendously if he had found it out, for he liked to think that when he bawled orders at the top of his voice everyone trembled and obeyed. It had never occurred to him that only one voice was obeyed on the plantation—the soft voice of his wife Ellen. It was a secret he would never learn, for everyone from Ellen down to the stupidest field hand was in a tacit and kindly conspiracy to keep him believing that his word was law.

Scarlett was impressed less than anyone else by his tempers and his roarings. She was his oldest child and, now that Gerald knew there would be no more sons to follow the three who lay in the family burying ground, he had drifted into a habit of treating her in a man-to-man manner which she found most pleasant. She was more like her father than her younger sisters, for Carreen, who had been born Caroline Irene, was delicate and dreamy, and Suellen, christened Susan Elinor, prided herself on her elegance and ladylike deportment.

Moreover, Scarlett and her father were bound together by a mutual suppression agreement. If Gerald caught her climbing a fence instead of walking half a mile to a gate, or sitting too late on the front steps with a beau, he castigated her personally and with vehemence, but he did not mention the fact to Ellen or to Mammy. And when Scarlett discovered him jumping fences after his solemn promise to his wife, or learned the exact amount of his losses at poker, as she always did from County gossip, she refrained from mentioning the fact at the supper table in the artfully artless manner Suellen had. Scarlett and her father each assured the other solemnly that to bring such matters to the ears of Ellen would only hurt her, and nothing would induce them to wound her gentleness.

Scarlett looked at her father in the fading light, and, without knowing why, she found it comforting to be in his presence. There was something vital and earthy and coarse about him that appealed to her. Being the least analytic of people, she did not realize that this was because she possessed in some degree these same qualities, despite sixteen years of effort on the part of Ellen and Mammy to obliterate them.

“You look very presentable now,” she said, “and I don’t think anyone will suspect you’ve been up to your tricks unless you brag about them. But it does seem to me that after you broke your knee last year, jumping that same fence—”

“Well, may I be damned if I’ll have me own daughter telling me what I shall jump and not jump,” he shouted, giving her cheek another pinch. “It’s me own neck, so it is. And besides, Missy, what are you doing out here without your shawl?”

Seeing that he was employing familiar maneuvers to extricate himself from unpleasant conversation, she slipped her arm through his and said: “I was waiting for you. I didn’t know you would be so late. I just wondered if you had bought Dilcey.”

“Bought her I did, and the price has ruined me. Bought her and her little wench, Prissy. John Wilkes was for almost giving them away, but never will I have it said that Gerald O’Hara used friendship in a trade. I made him take three thousand for the two of them.”

“In the name of Heaven, Pa, three thousand! And you didn’t need to buy Prissy!”

“Has the time come when me own daughters sit in judgment on me?” shouted Gerald rhetorically. “Prissy is a likely little wench and so—”

“I know her. She’s a sly, stupid creature,” Scarlett rejoined calmly, unimpressed by his uproar. “And the only reason you bought her was because Dilcey asked you to buy her.”

Gerald looked crestfallen and embarrassed, as always when caught in a kind deed, and Scarlett laughed outright at his transparency.

“Well, what if I did? Was there any use buying Dilcey if she was going to mope about the child? Well, never again will I let a darky on this place marry off it. It’s too expensive. Well, come on, Puss, let’s go in to supper.”

The shadows were falling thicker now, the last greenish tinge had left the sky and a slight chill was displacing the balminess of spring. But Scarlett loitered, wondering how to bring up the subject of Ashley without permitting Gerald to suspect her motive. This was difficult, for Scarlett had not a subtle bone in her body; and Gerald was so much like her he never failed to penetrate her weak subterfuges, even as she penetrated his. And he was seldom tactful in doing it.

“How are they all over at Twelve Oaks?”

“About as usual. Cade Calvert was there and, after I settled about Dilcey, we all set on the gallery and had several toddies. Cade has just come from Atlanta, and it’s all upset they are there and talking war and—”

Scarlett sighed. If Gerald once got on the subject of war and secession, it would be hours before he relinquished it She broke in with another line.

“Did they say anything about the barbecue tomorrow?”

“Now that I think of it they did. Miss—what’s-her-name—the sweet little thing who was here last year, you know, Ashley’s cousin—oh, yes, Miss Melanie Hamilton, that’s the name—she and her brother Charles have already come from Atlanta and—”

“Oh, so she did come?”

“She did, and a sweet quiet thing she is, with never a word to say for herself, like a woman should be. Come now, daughter, don’t lag. Your mother will be hunting for us.”

Scarlett’s heart sank at the news. She had hoped against hope that something would keep Melanie Hamilton in Atlanta where she belonged, and the knowledge that even her father approved of her sweet quiet nature, so different from her own, forced her into the open.

“Was Ashley there, too?”

“He was.” Gerald let go of his daughter’s arm and turned, peering sharply into her face. “And if that’s why you came out here to wait for me, why didn’t you say so without beating around the bush?”

Scarlett could think of nothing to say, and she felt her face growing red with annoyance.

“Well, speak up.”

Still she said nothing, wishing that it was permissible to shake one’s father and tell him to hush his mouth.

“He was there and he asked most kindly after you, as did his sisters, and said they hoped nothing would keep you from the barbecue tomorrow. I’ll warrant nothing will,” he said shrewdly. “And now, daughter, what’s all this about you and Ashley?”

“There is nothing,” she said shortly, tugging at his arm. “Let’s go in, Pa.”

“So now ‘tis you wanting to go in,” he observed. “But here I’m going to stand till I’m understanding you. Now that I think of it ‘tis strange you’ve been recently. Has he been trifling with you? Has he asked to marry you?”

“No,” she said shortly.

“Nor will he,” said Gerald.

Fury flamed in her, but Gerald waved her quiet with a hand.

“Hold your tongue, Miss! I had it from John Wilkes this afternoon in the strictest confidence that Ashley’s to marry Miss Melanie. It’s to be announced tomorrow.”

Scarlett’s hand fell from his arm. So it was true!

A pain slashed at her heart as savagely as a wild animal’s fangs. Through it all, she felt her father’s eyes on her, a little pitying, a little annoyed at being faced with a problem for which he knew no answer. He loved Scarlett, but it made him uncomfortable to have her forcing her childish problems on him for a solution. Ellen knew all the answers. Scarlett should have taken her troubles to her.

“Is it a spectacle you’ve been making of yourself—of all of us?” he bawled, his voice rising as always in moments of excitement. “Have you been running after a man who’s not in love with you, when you could have any of the bucks in the County?”

Anger and hurt pride drove out some of the pain.

“I haven’t been running after him. It—it just surprised me.”

“It’s lying you are!” said Gerald, and then, peering at her stricken face, he added in a burst of kindliness: “I’m sorry, daughter. But after all, you are nothing but a child and there’s lots of other beaux.”

“Mother was only fifteen when she married you, and I’m sixteen,” said Scarlett, her voice muffled.

“Your mother was different,” said Gerald. “She was never flighty like you. Now come, daughter, cheer up, and I’ll take you to Charleston next week to visit your Aunt Eulalie and, what with all the hullabaloo they are having over there about Fort Sumter, you’ll be forgetting about Ashley in a week.”

“He thinks I’m a child,” thought Scarlett, grief and anger choking utterance, “and he’s only got to dangle a new toy and I’ll forget my bumps.”

“Now, don’t be jerking your chin at me,” warned Gerald. “If you had any sense you’d have married Stuart or Brent Tarleton long ago. Think it over, daughter. Marry one of the twins and then the plantations will run together and Jim Tarleton and I will build you a fine house, right where they join, in that big pine grove and—”

“Will you stop treating me like a child!” cried Scarlett. “I don’t want to go to Charleston or have a house or marry the twins. I only want—” She caught herself but not in time.

Gerald’s voice was strangely quiet and he spoke slowly as if drawing his words from a store of thought seldom used.

“It’s only Ashley you’re wanting, and you’ll not be having him. And if he wanted to marry you, ‘twould be with misgivings that I’d say Yes, for an the fine friendship that’s between me and John Wilkes.” And, seeing her startled look, he continued: “I want my girl to be happy and you wouldn’t be happy with him.”

“Oh, I would! I would!”

“That you would not, daughter. Only when like marries like can there be any happiness.”

Scarlett had a sudden treacherous desire to cry out, “But you’ve been happy, and you and Mother aren’t alike,” but she repressed it, fearing that he would box her ears for her impertinence.

“Our people and the Wilkes are different,” he went on slowly, fumbling for words. “The Wilkes are different from any of our neighbors—different from any family I ever knew. They are queer folk, and it’s best that they marry their cousins and keep their queerness to themselves.”

“Why, Pa, Ashley is not—”

“Hold your whist, Puss! I said nothing against the lad, for I like him. And when I say queer, it’s not crazy I’m meaning. He’s not queer like the Calverts who’d gamble everything they have on a horse, or the Tarletons who turn out a drunkard or two in every litter, or the Fontaines who are hot-headed little brutes and after murdering a man for a fancied slight. That kind of queerness is easy to understand, for sure, and but for the grace of God Gerald O’Hara would be having all those faults! And I don’t mean that Ashley would run off with another woman, if you were his wife, or beat you. You’d be happier if he did, for at least you’d be understanding that. But he’s queer in other ways, and there’s no understanding him at all. I like him, but it’s neither heads nor tails I can make of most he says. Now, Puss, tell me true, do you understand his folderol about books and poetry and music and oil paintings and such foolishness?”

“Oh, Pa,” cried Scarlett impatiently, “if I married him, I’d change all that!”

“Oh, you would, would you now?” Said Gerald testily, shooting a sharp look at her. “Then it’s little enough you are knowing of any man living, let alone Ashley. No wife has ever changed a husband one whit, and don’t you be forgetting that. And as for changing a Wilkes—God’s nightgown, daughter! The whole family is that way, and they’ve always been that way. And probably always will. I tell you they’re born queer. Look at the way they go tearing up to New York and Boston to hear operas and see oil paintings. And ordering French and German books by the crate from the Yankees! And there they sit reading and dreaming the dear God knows what, when they’d be better spending their time hunting and playing poker as proper men should.”

“There’s nobody in the County sits a horse better than Ashley,” said Scarlett, furious at the slur of effeminacy flung on Ashley, “nobody except maybe his father. And as for poker, didn’t Ashley take two hundred dollars away from you just last week in Jonesboro?”

“The Calvert boys have been blabbing again,” Gerald said resignedly, “else you’d not be knowing the amount. Ashley can ride with the best and play poker with the best—that’s me, Puss! And I’m not denying that when he sets out to drink he can put even the Tarletons under the table. He can do all those t