Once she said "Melly?" and Mammy's voice said: "S'me, chile," and put a cold rag on her forehead and she cried fretfully: "Melly--Melanie" over and over but for a long time Melanie did not come. For Melanie was sitting on the edge of Rhett's bed and Rhett, drunk and sobbing, was sprawled on the floor, crying, his head in her lap.
Every time she had come out of Scarlett's room she had seen him, sitting on his bed, his
door wide, watching the door across the hall. The room was untidy, littered with cigar butts and dishes of untouched food. The bed was tumbled and unmade and he sat on it, unshaven and
suddenly gaunt, endlessly smoking. He never asked questions when he saw her. She always stood in the doorway for a minute, giving the news: "I'm sorry, she's worse," or "No, she hasn't asked for you yet. You see, she's delirious" or "You mustn't give up hope, Captain Butler. Let me fix you some hot coffee and something to eat. You'll make yourself ill."
Her heart always ached with pity for him, although she was almost too tired and sleepy to feel anything. How could people say such mean things about him--say he was heartless and
wicked and unfaithful to Scarlett, when she could see him getting thin before her eyes, see the torment in his face? Tired as she was, she always tried to be kinder than usual when she gave bulletins from the sick room. He looked so like a damned soul waiting judgment--so like a child in a suddenly hostile world. But everyone was like a child to Melanie.
But when, at last, she went joyfully to his door to tell him that Scarlett was better, she was unprepared for what she found. There was a half-empty bottle of whisky on the table by the bed and the room reeked with the odor. He looked at her with bright glazed eyes and his jaw muscles trembled despite his efforts to set his teeth.
"She's dead?"
"Oh, no. She's much better."
He said: "Oh, my God," and put his head in his hands. She saw his wide shoulders shake as with a nervous chill and, as she watched him pityingly, her pity changed to honor for she saw that he was crying. Melanie had never seen a man cry and of all men, Rhett, so suave, so
mocking, so eternally sure of himself.
It frightened her, the desperate choking sound he made. She had a terrified thought that he was drunk and Melanie was afraid of drunkenness. But when he raised his head and she caught one glimpse of his eyes, she stepped swiftly into the room, closed the door softly behind her and went to him. She had never seen a man cry but she had comforted the tears of many children.
When she put a soft hand on his shoulder, his arms went suddenly around her skirts. Before she knew how it happened she was sitting on the bed and he was on the floor, his head in her lap and his arms and hands clutching her in a frantic clasp that hurt her.
She stroked the black head gently and said: "There! There!" soothingly. "There! She's going to get well."
At her words, his grip tightened and he began speaking rapidly, hoarsely, babbling as though to a grave which would never give up its secrets, babbling the truth for the first time in his life, baring himself mercilessly to Melanie who was at first, utterly uncomprehending, utterly maternal. He talked brokenly, burrowing his head in her lap, tugging at the folds of her skirt Sometimes his words were blurred, muffled, sometimes they came far too clearly to her ears, harsh, bitter words of confession and abasement, speaking of things she had never heard even a woman mention, secret things that brought the hot blood of modesty to her cheeks and made her grateful for his bowed head.
She patted his head as she did little Beau's and said: "Hush! Captain Butler! You must not tell me these things! You are not yourself. Hush!" But his voice went on in a wild torrent of outpouring and he held to her dress as though it were his hope of life.
He accused himself of deeds she did not understand; he mumbled the name of Belle
Watling and then he shook her with his violence as he cried: "I've killed Scarlett, I've killed her.
You don't understand. She didn't want this baby and--"
"You must hush! You are beside yourself! Not want a baby? Why every woman wants--"
"No! No! You want babies. But she doesn't. Not my babies--"
"You must stop!"
"You don't understand. She didn't want a baby and I made her. This--this baby--it's all my damned fault. We hadn't been sleeping together--"
"Hush, Captain Butler! It is not fit--"
"And I was drunk and insane and I wanted to hurt her--because she had hurt me. I wanted to--and I did--but she didn't want me. She's never wanted me. She never has and I tried--I tried so hard and--"