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@@@@@He touched it to a lamp wick, and she could see his face Scarlett ached with longing He put the glass chimney on the lamp and held it high There's a bedroom upstairs where you can sleep It was not nearly as primitive as the room downstairsThe tall four-post bed had a thick mattress and fat pillows and a bright woolen blanket over its crisp linen sheetsScarlett didn't look at the other furnishingsShe let the blanket fall from her shoulders and climbed the set of steps beside the bed to burrow under the covers He stood over her a moment before he left the roomShe listened to his footstepsNo, he wasn't going downstairs, he'd be close by Scarlett smiled, then sleptThe nightmare began as it had always begun-with the mistIt was years since Scarlett had dreamed it, but her unconscious mind remembered even as it created the dream, and she began to twist and thrash and whimper deep in the back of her throat, dreading what was to comeThen, again, she was running, with her straining heart pounding in her ears, running, stumbling and running, through a thick white fog that twined cold swirling tendrils around her throat and legs and armsShe was cold, as cold as death, and hungry, and terrifiedIt was the same, it had always been the same, and each time worse than the time before, as if the terror and hunger and cold accumulated, grew strongerAnd yet it was not the sameFor in the past, she had been running and reaching for something unnamed and unknowable, and now ahead of her she could glimpse through streaks in the mist Rhett's broad back, always moving awayAnd she knew that he was what she was searching for, that when she reached him the dream would lose its power and fade away, never to returnShe ran and ran, but he was always far ahead, always with his back turned on her Then the fog thickened, and he began to disappear, and she cried out to himYou're dreaming, it's not real Strong arms lifted her and held her, and she was warm and safe at lastScarlett half-woke with a star

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