She saw in them defeat of her wild dream, her mad desires.
Heartbreak and weariness sweeping over her, she dropped her head in her hands and
cried. He had never seen her cry. He had never thought that women of her strong mettle had tears, and a flood of tenderness and remorse swept him. He came to her swiftly and in a moment had her in his arms, cradling her comfortingly, pressing her black head to his heart, whispering:
"Dear! My brave dear--don't! You mustn't cry!"
At his touch, he felt her change within his grip and there was madness and magic in the
slim body he held and a hot soft glow in the green eyes which looked up at him. Of a sudden, it was no longer bleak winter. For Ashley, spring was back again, that half-forgotten balmy spring of green rustlings and murmurings, a spring of ease and indolence, careless days when the desires of youth were warm in his body. The bitter years since then fell away and he saw that the lips turned up to his were red and trembling and he kissed her.
There was a curious low roaring sound in her ears as of sea shells held against them and through the sound she dimly heard the swift thudding of her heart. Her body seemed to melt into his and, for a timeless time, they stood, fused together as his lips took hers hungrily as if he could never have enough.
When he suddenly released her she felt that she could not stand alone and gripped the
fence for support. She raised eyes blazing with love and triumph to him.
"You do love me! You do love me! Say it--say it!"
His hands still rested on her shoulders and she felt them tremble and loved their
trembling. She leaned toward him ardently but he held her away from him, looking at her with eyes from which all remoteness had fled, eyes tormented with struggle and despair.
"Don't!" he said. "Don't! If you do, I shall take you now, here."
She smiled a bright hot smile which was forgetful of time or place or anything but the
memory of his mouth on hers.
Suddenly he shook her, shook her until her black hair tumbled down about her shoulders,
shook her as if in a mad rage at her--and at himself.
"We won't do this!" he said. "I tell you we won't do it!"
It seemed as if her neck would snap if he shook her again. She was blinded by her hair
and stunned by his action. She wrenched herself away and stared at him. There were small beads of moisture on his forehead and his fists were curled into claws as if in pain. He looked at her directly, his gray eyes piercing.
"It's all my fault--none of yours and it will never happen again, because I am going to take Melanie and the baby and go."
"Go?" she cried in anguish. "Oh, no!"
"Yes, by God! Do you think I'll stay here after this? When this might happen again--"
"But, Ashley, you can't go. Why should you go? You love me--"
"You want me to say it? All right, I'll say it. I love you."
He leaned over her with a sudden savagery which made her shrink back against the fence.
"I love you, your courage and your stubbornness and your fire and your utter ruthlessness.
How much do I love you? So much that a moment ago I would have outraged the hospitality of the house which has sheltered me and my family, forgotten the best wife any man ever had--
enough to take you here in the mud like a--"
She struggled with a chaos of thoughts and there was a cold pain in her heart as if an
icicle had pierced it. She said haltingly: "If you felt like that--and didn't take me--then you don't love me."
"I can never make you understand."
They fell silent and looked at each other. Suddenly Scarlett shivered and saw, as if
coming back from a long journey, that it was winter and the fields were bare and harsh with stubble and she was very cold. She saw too that the old aloof face of Ashley, the one she knew so well, had come back and it was wintry too, and harsh with hurt and remorse.
She would have turned and left him then, seeking the shelter of the house to hide herself, but she was too tired to move. Even speech was a labor and a weariness.
There is nothing left," she said at last. "Nothing left for me. Nothing to love. Nothing to fight for. You are gone and Tara is going."
He looked at her for a long space and then, leaning, scooped up a small wad of red clay
from the ground.
"Yes, there is something left," he said, and the ghost of his old smile came back, the smile which mocked himself as well as her. "Something you love better than me, though you may not know it. You've still got Tara."
He took her limp hand and pressed the damp clay into it and closed her fingers about it.