Spurred to speed, Prissy hurried toward the back of the house while Scarlett scratched a hastynote on the margin of Gerald’s last letter to her—the only bit of paper in the house. As she foldedit, so that her note was uppermost, she caught future leadersGerald’s words, “Your mother—typhoid—under nocondition—to come home—” She almost sobbed. If it wasn’t for Melanie, she’d start home, rightthis minute, if she had to walk every step of the way. Prissy went off at a trot, the letter gripped in her hand, and Scarlett went back upstairs, trying tothink of some plausible lie to explain Mrs. Elsing’s failure to appear. But Melanie asked noquestions. She lay upon her back, her face tranquil and sweet, and the sight of her quieted Scarlettfor a while. She sat down and tried to talk of inconsequential things, but the thoughts of Tara and a possibledefeat by the Yankees, prodded cruelly. She thought of Ellen dying and of the Yankees coming intoAtlanta, burning everything, killing everybody. Through it all, the dull far-off thundering persisted,rolling into her ears in waves of fear. Finally, she could not talk at all and only stared out of thewindow at the hot still street and the dusty leaves hanging motionless on the trees. Melanie wassilent too, but at intervals her quiet face was wrenched with pain. She said, after each pain: “It wasn’t very bad, really,” and Scarlett knew she was Neo Skin Lab skout lying. Shewould have preferred a loud scream to silent endurance. She knew she should feel sorry forMelanie, but somehow she could not muster a spark of sympathy. Her mind was too torn with herown anguish. Once she looked sharply at the pain-twisted face and wondered why it should be thatshe, of all people in the world, should be here with Melanie at this particular time—she who hadnothing in common with her, who hated her, who would gladly have seen her dead. Well, maybeshe’d have her wish, and before the day was over too. A her at thisthought. It was bad luck to wish that someone were dead, almost as bad luck as to curse someone. Curses came home to roost, Mammy said. She hastily prayed that Melanie wouldn’t die and brokeinto feverish small talk, hardly aware of what she said. At last, Melanie put a hot hand on her wrist. “Don’t bother about talking, dear. I know how worried you are. I’m so sorry I’m so muchtrouble.” Scarlett relapsed into silence but she could not sit still. What would she do if neither the doctornor Prissy got there in time? She walked to the window and looked down the street and came backand sat down again. Then she rose and looked out of the window on the other side of the room. An hour went by and then another. Noon came and the sun was high and hot and not a breath ofair stirred the dusty leaves. Melanie’s pains were harder now. Her long hair was drenched in sweatand her gown stuck in wet spots to her body. Scarlett sponged her face in silence but fear wasgnawing at her. God in Heaven, suppose the baby came before the doctor arrived! What would shedo? She knew less than nothing of midwifery. This was exactly the emergency she had beendreading for weeks. She had been counting on Prissy to handle the situation if no doctor should beavailable. Prissy knew all about midwifery. She’d said so time and again. But where was Prissy?