"They are not at the store. There was no meeting tonight," answered the captain grimly.
"We will wait outside until they return."
He bowed briefly and went out, closing the door behind him.
Those in the house heard a sharp order, muffled by the wind:
"Surround the house.
A man at each window and door."
There was a tramping of feet.
Scarlett checked a start of terror as she dimly saw bearded faces peering in the windows at them.
Melanie sat down and with a hand that did not tremble reached for a book on the table.
It was a ragged copy of Les Miserables, that book which caught the fancy of the Confederate soldiers.
They had read it by camp-fire light and took some grim pleasure in calling it
"Lee's Miserables."
She opened it at the middle and began to read in a clear monotonous voice.
"Sew," commanded Archie in a hoarse whisper and the three women, nerved by Melanie's cool voice, picked up their sewing and bowed their heads.
How long Melanie read beneath that circle of watching eyes, Scarlett never knew but it seemed hours.
She did not even hear a word that Melanie read.
Now she was beginning to think of Frank as well as Ashley.
So this was the explanation of his apparent calm this evening!
He had promised her he would have nothing to do with the Klan.
Oh, this was just the kind of trouble she had feared would come upon them!
All the work of this last year would go for nothing.
All her struggles and fears and labors in rain and cold had been wasted.
And who would have thought that spiritless old Frank would get himself mixed up in the hot-headed doings of the Klan?
Even at this minute, he might be dead.
And if he wasn't dead and the Yankees caught him, he'd be hanged.
And Ashley, too!
Her nails dug into her palms until four bright-red crescents showed.
How could Melanie read on and on so calmly when Ashley was in danger of being hanged?
When he might be dead?
But something in the cool soft voice reading the sorrows of Jean Valjean steadied her, kept her from leaping to her feet and screaming.
Her mind fled back to the night Tony Fontaine had come to them, hunted, exhausted, without money.
If he had not reached their house and received money and a fresh horse, he would have been hanged long since.
If Frank and Ashley were not dead at this very minute, they were in Tony's position, only worse.
With the house surrounded by soldiers they couldn't come home and get money and clothes without being captured.
And probably every house up and down the street had a similar guard of Yankees, so they could not apply to friends for aid.
Even now they might be riding wildly through the night, bound for Texas.
But Rhett--perhaps Rhett had reached them in time.
Rhett always had plenty of cash in his pocket.
Perhaps he would lend them enough to see them through.
But that was queer.
Why should Rhett bother himself about Ashley's safety?
Certainly he disliked him, certainly he professed a contempt for him.
Then why-- But this riddle was swallowed up in a renewed fear for the safety of Ashley and Frank.
"Oh, it's all my fault!" she wailed to herself.
"India and Archie spoke the truth.
It's all my fault.
But I never thought either of them was foolish enough to join the Klan!
And I never thought anything would really happen to me!
But I couldn't have done otherwise.
Melly spoke the truth.