The day of the funeral dawned clear and bright.

Rhett had come down to breakfast alone, leaving Scarlett still sleeping. Though he had managed a few hours sleep with Scarlett by his side, he still felt more dead than alive. He could not eat. He merely smoked and drank coffee and stared blankly at the morning paper. There was a cold, heavy ache in his chest, and he felt vaguely nauseated. He was unsure whether it was the thought of seeing his beloved Bonnie placed in the ground, or the thought of facing Scarlett after displaying his weakness to her, that disturbed him most. He anticipated her contemptuous mocking with cold dread.

When Scarlett entered the dining room at last, he greeted her cautiously, formally. Scarlett responded in kind. A small shiver of unnamed dread ran down her back as she took her place at the table. So that was how it was going to be, she thought despairingly. We are to act like strangers. She sat in silence, nibbling unenthusiastically on a bread roll, washing it down with coffee, glancing surreptitiously at Rhett intermittently. He did not pay her any further attention.

Later, as they rode in their carriage to their daughter's funeral, Scarlett wondered bewilderedly how the sun could be shining. 'It should be gloomy and wet on such a sad day', she thought to herself. After the gloom of her own home, it made her feel disorientated and dazed, and gave a feeling of unreality to the day.

Rhett sat beside her, but they were not touching. He sat erect and silent, gazing unseeing out the opposite window. The carriage pulled to a halt at the churchyard. Rhett stepped down and handed Scarlett out. As he did so, he gripped her hand rather more firmly than necessary and their eyes met. Scarlett's chin lifted almost imperceptively as she resolved to be strong, and Rhett, who caught the gesture and its meaning, admired her.

Once all the mourners were assembled, Bonnie's little casket was carried through the crowd by four solemn pallbearers; There was her uncle Will Benteen, Doctor Meade, who had brought her into the world, Ashley Wilkes, and Rhett. They walked slowly and silently, their eyes fixed straight ahead on the gash in the red earth which was waiting to receive their burden. When they reached the grave, they gently lowered the casket to the ground, then each turned to find their places beside their wives. As Rhett took his place by Scarlett's side, their eyes met again. They each saw in the other despair and grief, coupled with grit and grim courage. And each drew strength from the other wordlessly.

The words of the service were well familiar to all those who had gathered. 'Too familiar,' thought Scarlett grimly. How often she has heard them! She could probably recite the whole service herself from memory. 'Ashes to ashes, dust to dust . . . The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away . . Blessed be the name of the Lord . . . into thy hands we commit her spirit . . .' But that was Bonnie in that box! It all seemed so unreal. She stood erect and still, not allowing herself to display any sign of emotion. People said she looked proud and unfeeling.

Rhett stood still and expressionless too, but no one accused him of not caring. They said the poor man was clearly heartbroken, but that he conducted himself with courage and dignity.

Afterwards Rhett and Scarlett stood side by side, receiving the condolences of the gathered mourners in a kind of daze. There were many moist eyes and damp handkerchiefs. Bonnie had been well liked. But Rhett and Scarlett's eyes remained dry. Then finally it was over. They retreated with relief to their carriage. As they rode home they still remained silent, gazing out opposite windows. It was over, and they had got through it. But each felt too full of emotion to speak.

When they got home they stood in their grand foyer and allowed others to help them off with their gloves, hats and coats. Then they stood there awkwardly looking despairingly at each other. 'Would you like to join me for a drink?' said Rhett at last, quietly. It was almost the first time he had spoken all day. 'Yes', answered Scarlett, in a small voice. 'Thank you.'

He lead her into the dining room, where he pulled out a chair for her. She sat down gratefully. They sat there together drinking for the rest of the afternoon, with no object in mind but to numb the pain and to forget the horror of burying their daughter. They said little.

The day wore on, a servant came in noiselessly and lit the lamps. Still they drank. Scarlett drank so much that her speech became slurred and her eyes unfocussed. Eventually she lay her head in her hands and fell into a drunken slumber at the table. Rhett was having trouble getting the whisky into the shot glass. Why do they make the glasses so damn small? he wondered to himself. He kept drinking, trying to postpone the moment when he would have to go to bed in his empty room, with no Bonnie. Abruptly he pushed back his chair and stood unsteadily to his feet. His Bonnie gone! The unfairness of it! Bonnie was the only one who truly loved him! Without her he had nothing! He began to pace back and forth in an agitated manner. How could he bear it? What was the point in going on without her? All his life he had worked and strived, for what? Anger at the injustice of it all boiled up in him and he punched the wall with a loud cry.

After that, the anger left him, and despair washed over him again. He felt immensely tired, and defeated. Tomorrow, his hand would be sore, but he was unaware of it just yet. He looked at his sleeping wife. What a fool he'd been to marry her! Yesterday he had nearly allowed himself to imagine that she cared. He laughed at himself bitterly and stumbled up the stairs to bed.