minmarn/Gone_with_the_wind · Datasets at Hugging Face

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to one," said Melanie firmly as she gently laid a small hand across
Scarlett's tortured lips and stilled her words. "You insult
yourself and Ashley and me by even thinking there could be need of
explanations between us. Why, we three have been--have been like
soldiers fighting the world together for so many years that I'm
ashamed of you for thinking idle gossip could come between us. Do
you think I'd believe that you and my Ashley-- Why, the idea!
Don't you realize I know you better than anyone in the world knows
you? Do you think I've forgotten all the wonderful, unselfish
things you've done for Ashley and Beau and me--everything from
saving my life to keeping us from starving! Do you think I could
remember you walking in a furrow behind that Yankee's horse almost
barefooted and with your hands blistered--just so the baby and I
could have something to eat--and then believe such dreadful things
about you? I don't want to hear a word out of you, Scarlett
O'Hara. Not a word."

"But--" Scarlett fumbled and stopped.

Rhett had left town the hour before with Bonnie and Prissy, and
desolation was added to Scarlett's shame and anger. The additional
burden of her guilt with Ashley and Melanie's defense was more than
she could bear. Had Melanie believed India and Archie, cut her at
the reception or even greeted her frigidly, then she could have
held her head high and fought back with every weapon in her armory.
But now, with the memory of Melanie standing between her and social
ruin, standing like a thin, shining blade, with trust and a
fighting light in her eyes, there seemed nothing honest to do but
confess. Yes, blurt out everything from that far-off beginning on
the sunny porch at Tara.

She was driven by a conscience which, though long suppressed, could
still rise up, an active Catholic conscience. "Confess your sins
and do penance for them in sorrow and contrition," Ellen had told
her a hundred times and, in this crisis, Ellen's religious training
came back and gripped her. She would confess--yes, everything,
every look and word, those few caresses--and then God would ease
her pain and give her peace. And, for her penance, there would be
the dreadful sight of Melanie's face changing from fond love and
trust to incredulous horror and repulsion. Oh, that was too hard a
penance, she thought in anguish, to have to live out her life
remembering Melanie's face, knowing that Melanie knew all the
pettiness, the meanness, the two-faced disloyalty and the hypocrisy
that were in her.

Once, the thought of flinging the truth tauntingly in Melanie's
face and seeing the collapse of her fool's paradise had been an
intoxicating one, a gesture worth everything she might lose
thereby. But now, all that had changed overnight and there was
nothing she desired less. Why this should be she did not know.
There was too great a tumult of conflicting ideas in her mind for
her to sort them out. She only knew that as she had once desired
to keep her mother thinking her modest, kind, pure of heart, so she
now passionately desired to keep Melanie's high opinion. She only
knew that she did not care what the world thought of her or what
Ashley or Rhett thought of her, but Melanie must not think her
other than she had always thought her.

She dreaded to tell Melanie the truth but one of her rare honest
instincts arose, an instinct that would not let her masquerade in
false colors before the woman who had fought her battles for her.
So she had hurried to Melanie that morning, as soon as Rhett and
Bonnie had left the house.

But at her first tumbled-out words: "Melly, I must explain about
the other day--" Melanie had imperiously stopped her. Scarlett
looking shamefaced into the dark eyes that were flashing with love
and anger, knew with a sinking heart that the peace and calm
following confession could never be hers. Melanie had forever cut
off that line of action by her first words. With one of the few
adult emotions Scarlett had ever had, she realized that to unburden
her own tortured heart would be the purest selfishness. She would
be ridding herself of her burden and laying it on the heart of an
innocent and trusting person. She owed Melanie a debt for her
championship and that debt could only be paid with silence. What
cruel payment it would be to wreck Melanie's life with the
unwelcome knowledge that her husband was unfaithful to her, and her
beloved friend a party to it!

"I can't tell her," she thought miserably. "Never, not even if my
conscience kills me." She remembered irrelevantly Rhett's drunken
remark: "She can't conceive of dishonor in anyone she loves . . .
let that be your cross."

Yes, it would be her cross, until she died, to keep this torment
silent within her, to wear the hair shirt of shame, to feel it
chafing her at every tender look and gesture Melanie would make
throughout the years, to subdue forever the impulse to cry: "Don't
be so kind! Don't fight for me! I'm not worth it!"

"If you only weren't such a fool, such a sweet, trusting, simple-
minded fool, it wouldn't be so hard," she thought desperately.
"I've toted lots of weary loads but this is going to be the
heaviest and most galling load I've ever toted."

Melanie sat facing her, in a low chair, her feet firmly planted on
an ottoman so high that her knees stuck up like a child's, a
posture she would never have assumed had not rage possessed her to
the point of forgetting proprieties. She held a line of tatting in
her hands and she was driving the shining needle back and forth as

to one," said Melanie firmly as she gently laid a small hand across

Scarlett's tortured lips and stilled her words. "You insult

yourself and Ashley and me by even thinking there could be need of

explanations between us. Why, we three have been--have been like

soldiers fighting the world together for so many years that I'm

ashamed of you for thinking idle gossip could come between us. Do

you think I'd believe that you and my Ashley-- Why, the idea!

Don't you realize I know you better than anyone in the world knows

you? Do you think I've forgotten all the wonderful, unselfish

things you've done for Ashley and Beau and me--everything from

saving my life to keeping us from starving! Do you think I could

remember you walking in a furrow behind that Yankee's horse almost

barefooted and with your hands blistered--just so the baby and I

could have something to eat--and then believe such dreadful things

about you? I don't want to hear a word out of you, Scarlett

O'Hara. Not a word."

"But--" Scarlett fumbled and stopped.

Rhett had left town the hour before with Bonnie and Prissy, and

desolation was added to Scarlett's shame and anger. The additional

burden of her guilt with Ashley and Melanie's defense was more than

she could bear. Had Melanie believed India and Archie, cut her at

the reception or even greeted her frigidly, then she could have

held her head high and fought back with every weapon in her armory.

But now, with the memory of Melanie standing between her and social

ruin, standing like a thin, shining blade, with trust and a

fighting light in her eyes, there seemed nothing honest to do but

confess. Yes, blurt out everything from that far-off beginning on

the sunny porch at Tara.

She was driven by a conscience which, though long suppressed, could

still rise up, an active Catholic conscience. "Confess your sins

and do penance for them in sorrow and contrition," Ellen had told

her a hundred times and, in this crisis, Ellen's religious training

came back and gripped her. She would confess--yes, everything,

every look and word, those few caresses--and then God would ease

her pain and give her peace. And, for her penance, there would be

the dreadful sight of Melanie's face changing from fond love and

trust to incredulous horror and repulsion. Oh, that was too hard a

penance, she thought in anguish, to have to live out her life

remembering Melanie's face, knowing that Melanie knew all the

pettiness, the meanness, the two-faced disloyalty and the hypocrisy

that were in her.

Once, the thought of flinging the truth tauntingly in Melanie's

face and seeing the collapse of her fool's paradise had been an

intoxicating one, a gesture worth everything she might lose

thereby. But now, all that had changed overnight and there was

nothing she desired less. Why this should be she did not know.

There was too great a tumult of conflicting ideas in her mind for

her to sort them out. She only knew that as she had once desired

to keep her mother thinking her modest, kind, pure of heart, so she

now passionately desired to keep Melanie's high opinion. She only

knew that she did not care what the world thought of her or what

Ashley or Rhett thought of her, but Melanie must not think her

other than she had always thought her.

She dreaded to tell Melanie the truth but one of her rare honest

instincts arose, an instinct that would not let her masquerade in

false colors before the woman who had fought her battles for her.

So she had hurried to Melanie that morning, as soon as Rhett and

Bonnie had left the house.

But at her first tumbled-out words: "Melly, I must explain about

the other day--" Melanie had imperiously stopped her. Scarlett

looking shamefaced into the dark eyes that were flashing with love

and anger, knew with a sinking heart that the peace and calm

following confession could never be hers. Melanie had forever cut

off that line of action by her first words. With one of the few

adult emotions Scarlett had ever had, she realized that to unburden

her own tortured heart would be the purest selfishness. She would

be ridding herself of her burden and laying it on the heart of an

innocent and trusting person. She owed Melanie a debt for her

championship and that debt could only be paid with silence. What

cruel payment it would be to wreck Melanie's life with the

unwelcome knowledge that her husband was unfaithful to her, and her

beloved friend a party to it!

"I can't tell her," she thought miserably. "Never, not even if my

conscience kills me." She remembered irrelevantly Rhett's drunken

remark: "She can't conceive of dishonor in anyone she loves . . .

let that be your cross."

Yes, it would be her cross, until she died, to keep this torment

silent within her, to wear the hair shirt of shame, to feel it

chafing her at every tender look and gesture Melanie would make

throughout the years, to subdue forever the impulse to cry: "Don't

be so kind! Don't fight for me! I'm not worth it!"

"If you only weren't such a fool, such a sweet, trusting, simple-

minded fool, it wouldn't be so hard," she thought desperately.

"I've toted lots of weary loads but this is going to be the

heaviest and most galling load I've ever toted."

Melanie sat facing her, in a low chair, her feet firmly planted on

an ottoman so high that her knees stuck up like a child's, a

posture she would never have assumed had not rage possessed her to

the point of forgetting proprieties. She held a line of tatting in

her hands and she was driving the shining needle back and forth as