Almost as clearly as if that dreadful day had returned, she could feel the stifling heat of the September noon, remembering her terror of the Yankees, hear the tramp of the retreating troops, recall Melanie's voice begging her to take the baby should she die--remember, too, how she had hated Melanie that day and hoped that she would die.
"I've killed her," she thought, in superstitious agony.
"I wished so often she would die and God heard me and is punishing me."
"Oh, Melly, don't talk like that!
You know you'll pull through this--"
"No.
Promise."
Scarlett gulped.
"You know I promise. I'll treat him like he was my own boy."
"College?" asked Melanie's faint flat voice.
"Oh, yes!
The university and Harvard and Europe and anything he wants--and--and--a pony--and music lessons-- Oh, please, Melly, do try!
Do make an effort!"
The silence fell again and on Melanie's face there were signs of a struggle to gather strength to speak.
"Ashley," she said.
"Ashley and you--" Her voice faltered into stillness.
At the mention of Ashley's name, Scarlett's heart stood still, cold as granite within her.
Melanie had known all the time.
Scarlett dropped her head on the coverlet and a sob that would not rise caught her throat with a cruel hand.
Melanie knew.
Scarlett was beyond shame now, beyond any feeling save a wild remorse that she had hurt this gentle creature throughout the long years.
Melanie had known--and yet, she had remained her loyal friend. Oh, if she could only live those years over again!
She would never even let her eyes meet those of Ashley.
"O God," she prayed rapidly, "do, please, let her live!
I'll make it up to her.
I'll be so good to her.
I'll never even speak to Ashley again as long as I live, if You'll only let her get well!"
"Ashley," said Melanie feebly and her fingers reached out to touch Scarlett's bowed head.
Her thumb and forefinger tugged with no more strength than that of a baby at Scarlett's hair.
Scarlett knew what that meant, knew Melanie wanted her to look up.
But she could not, could not meet Melanie's eyes and read that knowledge in them.
"Ashley," Melanie whispered again and Scarlett gripped herself. When she looked God in the face on the Day of Judgment and read her sentence in His eyes, it would not be as bad as this.
Her soul cringed but she raised her head.
She saw only the same dark loving eyes, sunken and drowsy with death, the same tender mouth tiredly fighting pain for breath.
No reproach was there, no accusation and no fear--only an anxiety that she might not find strength for words.
For a moment Scarlett was too stunned to even feel relief.
Then, as she held Melanie's hand more closely, a flood of warm gratitude to God swept over her and, for the first time since her childhood, she said a humble, unselfish prayer.
"Thank You, God.
I know I'm not worth it but thank You for not letting her know."
"What about Ashley, Melly?"
"You'll--look after him?"
"Oh, yes."
"He catches cold--so easily."
There was a pause.
"Look after--his business--you understand?"
"Yes, I understand.
I will."
She made a great effort.
"Ashley isn't--practical."
Only death could have forced that disloyalty from Melanie.