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. There was no fever in his hands now, nor in hers. She looked at the red soil for a moment and it meant nothing to her. She looked at him and realized dimly that there was an integrity of spirit in him which was not to be torn apart by her passionate hands, nor by any hands.
If it killed him, he would never leave Melanie. If he burned for Scarlett until the end of his days, he would never take her and he would fight to keep her at a distance. She would never again get through that armor. The words, hospitality and loyalty and honor, meant more to him than she did.
The clay was cold in her hand and she looked at it again.
"Yes," she said, I've still got this."
At first, the words meant nothing and the clay was only red clay. But unbidden came the thought of the sea of red dirt which surrounded Tara and how very dear it was and how hard she had fought to keep it -- how hard she was going to have to fight if she wished to keep it hereafter. She looked at him again and wondered where the hot flood of feeling had gone. She could think but could not feel, not about him nor Tara either, for she was drained of all emotion.
"You need not go," she said clearly. "I won't have you all starve, simply because I've thrown myself at your head. It will never happen again."
She turned away and started back toward the house across the rough fields, twisting her hair into a knot upon her neck. Ashley watched her go and saw her square her small thin shoulders as she went. And that gesture went to his heart, more than any words she had spoken.
CHAPTER XXXII