飘

　All　the　breath　went　out　of　Scarlett’s　lungs　in　one　gasp　of　horror　before　rage　swept　her。　Prissy　made　a　lunge　past　her；　bent　on　flight；　but　Scarlett　grabbed　her。
　“You　black　liar—what　do　you　mean？　You’ve　been　saying　you　knew　everything　about　birthing　babies。　What　is　the　truth？　Tell　me！”　She　shook　her　until　the　kinky　head　rocked　drunkenly。
　“Ah’s　lyin’；　Miss　Scarlett！　Ah　doan　know　huccome　Ah　tell　sech　a　lie。　Ah　jes’　see　one　baby　birthed；　an’　Maw　she　lak　ter　wo’　me　out　fer　watchin’。”
　Scarlett　glared　at　her　and　Prissy　shrank　back；　trying　to　pull　loose。　For　a　moment　her　mind　refused　to　accept　the　truth；　but　when　realization　finally　came　to　her　that　Prissy　knew　no　more　about　midwifery　than　she　did；　anger　went　over　her　like　a　flame。　She　had　never　struck　a　slave　in　all　her　life；　but　now　she　slapped　the　black　cheek　with　all　the　force　in　her　tired　arm。　Prissy　screamed　at　the　top　of　her　voice；　more　from　fright　than　pain；　and　began　to　dance　up　and　down；　writhing　to　break　Scarlett’s　grip。
　As　she　screamed；　the　moaning　from　the　second　floor　ceased　and　a　moment　later　Melanie’s　voice；　weak　and　trembling；　called：　“Scarlett？　Is　it　you？　Please　come！　Please！”
　Scarlett　dropped　Prissy’s　arm　and　the　wench　sank　whimpering　to　the　steps。　For　a　moment　Scarlett　stood　still；　looking　up；　listening　to　the　low　moaning　which　had　begun　again。　As　she　stood　there；　it　seemed　as　though　a　yoke　descended　heavily　upon　her　neck；　felt　as　though　a　heavy　load　were　harnessed　to　it；　a　load　she　would　feel　as　soon　as　she　took　a　step。
　She　tried　to　think　of　all　the　things　Mammy　and　Ellen　had　done　for　her　when　Wade　was　born　but　the　merciful　blurring　of　the　childbirth　pains　obscured　almost　everything　in　mist。　She　did　recall　a　few　things　and　she　spoke　to　Prissy　rapidly；　authority　in　her　voice。
　“Build　a　fire　in　the　stove　and　keep　hot　water　boiling　in　the　kettle。　And　bring　up　all　the　towels　you　can　find　and　that　ball　of　twine。　And　get　me　the　scissors。　Don’t　come　telling　me　you　can’t　find　them。　Get　them　and　get　them　quick。　Now　hurry。”
　She　jerked　Prissy　to　her　feet　and　sent　her　kitchenwards　with　a　shove。　Then　she　squared　her　shoulders　and　started　up　the　stairs。　It　was　going　to　be　difficult；　telling　Melanie　that　she　and　Prissy　were　to　deliver　her　baby。
　
　CHAPTER　XXII
　THERE　WOULD　NEVER　AGAIN　BE　an　afternoon　as　long　as　this　one。　Or　as　hot。　Or　as　full　of　lazy　insolent　flies。　They　swarmed　on　Melanie　despite　the　fan　Scarlett　kept　in　constant　motion。　Her　arms　ached　from　swinging　the　wide　palmetto　leaf。　All　her　efforts　seemed　futile；　for　while　she　brushed　them　from　Melanie’s　moist　face；　they　crawled　on　her　clammy　feet　and　legs　and　made　her　jerk　them　weakly　and　cry：　“Please！　On　my　feet！”
　The　room　was　in　semigloom；　for　Scarlett　had　pulled　down　the　shades　to　shut　out　the　heat　and　brightness。　Pin　points　of　sunlight　came　in　through　minute　holes　in　the　shades　and　about　the　edges。　The　room　was　an　oven　and　Scarlett’s　sweat…drenched　clothes　never　dried　but　became　wetter　and　stickier　as　the　hours　went　by。　Prissy　was　crouched　in　a　corner；　sweating　too；　and　smelled　so　abominably　Scarlett　would　have　sent　her　from　the　room　had　she　not　feared　the　girl　would　take　to　her　heels　if　once　out　of　sight　Melanie　lay　on　the　bed　on　a　sheet　dark　with　perspiration　and　splotched　with　dampness　where　Scarlett　had　spilled　water。　She　twisted　endlessly；　to　one　side；　to　the　other；　to　left；　to　right　and　back　again。
　Sometimes　she　tried　to　sit　up　and　fell　back　and　began　twisting　again。　At　first；　she　had　tried　to　keep　from　crying　out；　biting　her　lips　until　they　were　raw；　and　Scarlett；　whose　nerves　were　as　raw　as　the　lips；　said　huskily：　“Melly；　for　God’s　sake；　don’t　try　to　be　brave。　Yell　if　you　want　to。　There’s　nobody　to　hear　you　but　us。”
　As　the　afternoon　wore　on；　Melanie　moaned　whether　she　wanted　to　be　brave　or　not；　and　sometimes　she　screamed。　When　she　did；　Scarlett　dropped　her　head　into　her　hands　and　covered　her　ears　and　twisted　her　body　and　wished　that　she　herself　were　dead。　Anything　was　preferable　to　being　a　helpless　witness　to　such　pain。　Anything　was　better　than　being　tied　here　waiting　for　a　baby　that　took　such　a　long　time　coming。　Waiting；　when　for　all　she　knew　the　Yankees　were　actually　at　Five　Points。
　She　fervently　wished　she　had　paid　more　attention　to　the　whispered　conversations　of　matrons　on　the　subject　of　childbirth。　If　only　she　had！　If　only　she　had　been　more　interested　in　such　matters　she’d　know　whether　Melanie　was　taking　a　long　time　or　not。　She　had　a　vague　memory　of　one　of　Aunt　Pitty’s　stories　of　a　friend　who　was　in　labor　for　two　days　and　died　without　ever　having　the　baby。　Suppose　Melanie　should　go　on　like　this　for　two　days！　But　Melanie　was　so　delicate。　She　couldn’t　stand　two　days　of　this　pain。　She’d　die　soon　if　the　baby　didn’t　hurry。　And　how　could　she　ever　face　Ashley；　if　he　were　still　alive；　and　tell　him　that　Melanie　had　died—after　she　had　promised　to　take　care　of　her？
　At　first；　Melanie　wanted　to　hold　Scarlett’s　hand　when　the　pain　was　bad　but　she　clamped　down　on　it　so　hard　she　nearly　broke　the　bones。　After　an　hour　of　this；　Scarlett’s　hands　were　so　swollen　and　bruised　she　could　hardly　flex　them。　She　knotted　two　long　towels　together　and　tied　them　to　the　foot　of　the　bed　and　put　the　knotted　end　in　Melanie’s　hands。　Melanie　hung　onto　it　as　though　it　were　a　life　line；　straining；　pulling　it　taut；　slackening　it；　tearing　it。　Throughout　the　afternoon；　her　voice　went　on　like　an　animal　dying　in　a　trap。　Occasionally　she　dropped　the　towel　and　rubbed　her　hands　feebly　and　looked　up　at　Scarlett　with　eyes　enormous　with　pain。
　“Talk　to　me。　Please　talk　to　me；”　she　whispered　and　Scarlett　would　gabble　something　until　Melanie　again　gripped　the　knot　and　again　began　writhing。
　The　dim　room　swam　with　heat　and　pain　and　droning　flies；　and　time　went　by　on　such　dragging　feet　Scarlett　could　scarcely　remember　the　morning。　She　felt　as　if　she　had　been　in　this　steaming；　dark；　sweating　place　all　her　life。　She　wanted　very　much　to　scream　every　time　Melanie　did；　and　only　by　biting　her　lips　so　hard　it　infuriated　her　could　she　restrain　herself　and　drive　off　hysteria。
　Once　Wade　came　tiptoeing　up　the　stairs　and　stood　outside　the　door；　wailing。
　“Wade　hungwy！”　Scarlett　started　to　go　to　him；　but　Melanie　whispered：　“Don’t　leave　me。　Please。　I　can　stand　it　when　you’re　here。”
　So　Scarlett　sent　Prissy　down　to　warm　up　the　breakfast　hominy　and　feed　him。　For　herself；　she　felt　that　she　could　never　eat　again　after　this　afternoon。
　The　clock　on　the　mantel　had　stopped　and　she　had　no　way　of　telling　the　time　but　as　the　heat　in　the　room　lessened　and　the　bright　pin　points　of　light　grew　duller；　she　pulled　the　shade　aside。　She　saw　to　her　surprise　that　it　was　late　afternoon　and　the　sun；　a　ball　of　crimson；　was　far　down　the　sky。　Somehow；　she　had　imagined　it　would　remain　broiling　hot　noon　forever。
　She　wondered　passionately　what　was　going　on　downtown。　Had　all　the　troops　moved　out　yet？　Had　the　Yankees　come？　Would　the　Confederates　march　away　without　even　a　fight？　Then　she　remembered　with　a　sick　dropping　in　her　stomach　how　few　Confederates　there　were　and　how　many　men　Sherman　had　and　how　well　fed　they　were。　Sherman！　The　name　of　Satan　himself　did　not　frightened　her　half　so　much。　But　there　was　no　time　for　thinking　now；　as　Melanie　called　for　water；　for　a　cold　towel　on　her　head；　to　be　fanned；　to　have　the　flies　brushed　away　from　her　face。
　When　twilight　came　on　and　Prissy；　scurrying　like　a　black　wraith；　lit　a　lamp；　Melanie　became　weaker。　She　began　calling　for　Ashley；　over　and　over；　as　if　in　a　delirium　until　the　hideous　monotony　gave　Scarlett　a　fierce　desire　to　smother　her　voice　with　a　pillow。　Perhaps　the　doctor　would　come　after　all。　If　he　would　only　come　quickly！　Hope　raising　its　head；　she　turned　to　Prissy；　and　ordered　her　to　run　quickly　to　the　Meades’　house　and　see　if　he　were　there　or　Mrs。　Meade。
　“And　if　he’s　not　there；　ask　Mrs。　Meade　or　Cookie　what　to　do。　Beg　them　to　come！”
　Prissy　was　off　with　a　clatter　and　Scarlett　watched　her　hurrying　down　the　street；　going　faster　than　she　had　ever　dreamed　the　worthless　child　could　move。　After　a　prolonged　time　she　was　back；　alone。
　“De　doctah　ain’　been　home　all　day。　Sont　wud　he　mout　go　off　wid　de　sojers。　Miss　Scarlett；　Mist’　Phil’s　‘ceased。”
　“Dead？”
　“Yas’m；”　said　Prissy；　expanding　with　importance。　Talbot；　dey　coachman；　tole　me。　He　wuz　shot—”
　“Never　mind　that。”
　“Ah　din’　see　Miss　Meade。　Cookie　say　Miss　Meade　she　washin’　him　an’　fixin　ter　buhy　him　fo’　de　Yankees　gits　hyah。　Cookie　say　effen　de　pain　get　too　bad；　jes’　you　put　a　knife　unner　Miss　Melly’s　bed　an’　it　cut　de　pain　in　two。”
　Scarlett　wanted　to　slap　her　again　for　this　helpful　information　but　Melanie　opened　wide；　dilated　eyes　and　whispered：　“Dear—are　the　Yankees　coming？”
　“No；”　said　Scarlett　stoutly。　“Prissy’s　a　liar。”
　“Yas’m；　Ah　sho　is；”　Prissy　agreed　fervently。
　“They’re　coming；”　whispered　Melanie　undeceived　and　buried　her　face　in　the　pillow。　Her　voice　came　out　muffled。
　“My　poor　baby。　My　poor　baby。”　And；　after　a　long　interval：　“Oh；　Scarlett；　you　mustn’t　stay　here。　You　must　go　and　take　Wade。”
　What　Melanie　said　was　no　more　than　Scarlett　had　been　thinking　but　hearing　it　put　into　words　infuriated　her；　shamed　her　as　if　her　secret