Safe in the refuge of her room, Scarlett collapsed in utter exhaustion onto her bed, her trembling fingers unloosening and unhooking whatever closures she could reach on her dress. She flailed her arms and legs, pulling and kicking at the material, careless of the rips and tears she was making in the fabric, until she was finally free of the garment. She did not want to see anyone, but her stays were digging into her so painfully that she summoned a servant. One of the maids knocked discreetly on the door and entered at Scarlett's muffled bidding, bearing a small lamp. She silently unlaced Scarlett's stays, put away the now-ruined garment that Scarlett had kicked onto the floor, and helped Scarlett put her nightclothes on. Wordlessly she left, leaving the lamp flickering on the dresser.
In the semi-darkness of the room, Scarlett lay in bed, her mind whirling with thoughts too monstrous to be borne. She shivered under her blankets despite the relative warmth of the night. She felt almost physically crushed by grief and shock and some unnamed terror, so much so that her breathing came out in painful, erratic gasps. Scarlett longed desperately for a drink and made a slight motion as if to get up from her bed, but she slumped back almost immediately, too exhausted and weak to move her limbs. Somehow it seemed fitting that she would face this night sober. The events of that night were incomprehensible. Rhett had loved her, had loved her for years! She had been married to him all this time and had not known. How was it possible that she had been with him this whole time and not known? She knew now, but there was no joy in the revelation, only bitterness. Rhett did not love her any more. He did not love her, and he wanted nothing more than for her to be out of his life. And Melly—Scarlett swallowed—Melly was gone. Tears began to course down her cheeks, and Scarlett erupted into bitter choking sobs. For the first time in her life, she wished she were dead. Anything was better than this despair, this terrifying loneliness.
"Oh Melly, I'm so sorry." In her desperation, words began to pour out of her, incoherent, tormented pleadings. "I'm so sorry about everything. I was so wrong, so foolish about so many things. And I love you, Melly, so much. I know I'm not worth it, but forgive me, dearest, forgive me for all the horrible things I've done." These tortured musings assaulted Scarlett's overwrought nerves and made her cry even harder.
Sometime in the still of the night, Scarlett's sobs subsided, and she fell into an exhausted, troubled sleep. Her dreams were assailed with strange terrifying murmurings, ghostly infernal images. Spectral creatures with icy cold fingers clutched at her as darkness and fog and mist swirled around her. She was bitterly cold and hungry, and she was running, running desperately looking for shelter and warmth, but the ground kept caving underneath her feet, and she was falling, falling into a bottomless abyss. Terrified she let out a bloodcurdling scream and awoke suddenly to the deafening silence of her darkened room, the tiny flame of the lamp still casting long flickering shadows along the walls.
Half-sobbing, Scarlett sat up in bed, shivering and hugging her knees as tightly as she could in an effort to still her pounding heart. A warm, strong hand grasped one of hers and held it. It was Rhett's.
"Shhh—shhh—it's alright, honey. It was just a dream." His voice was kind and reassuring. He took her in his arms and held her close to him. It had been years since Rhett had held her or talked to her in this way or been in her room for that matter; they had been distant for so long that she felt self-conscious in his arms. His closeness was unfamiliar, as if she had known him well long ago in the past, but had since been separated from him over a lifetime. She was humiliated that he had come to her out of pity and had seen her in such an obvious state of weakness. Still, for a few precious moments, Scarlett closed her eyes and allowed herself to luxuriate in his embrace. How marvelously safe and warm she felt! If only he would hold her like this. She would be able to get through anything if only he would hold her. But all too soon, his arms released her, and he settled her against her pillow.
In the dim flickering light, Scarlett could see that Rhett's hair was disheveled; his face unshaven, his eyes sunken, and his body misshapen by months of drink and neglect. Despite the decline in his appearance, Scarlett's only thought was that she loved him. "I could have made him happy," Scarlett thought miserably. "We could have been so happy together if I hadn't been so foolish."
Scarlett cast down her eyes, knowing her emotions were written on her face. She managed to keep her voice steady. "Darling, I'm so sorry-did I wake you? I—I feel so much better now. Goodnight, Rhett."
"Get some sleep," were Rhett's only words. He released Scarlett's hand and stood up, causing the muted shadows in the room to heighten and shift. Rhett could not explain to himself what had compelled him to come to Scarlett's room, especially in the light of their conversation earlier that night. He knew that Scarlett was lost and scared to go back to sleep, but he dared not stay any longer; he did not intend for her to misconstrue his actions.