For Mullins, though depraved,
perhaps, was an honest man, abhorring parsons and making no secret of
his opinions--whence the bitter feeling. All men, except those very big ones who are supermen, have something
astonishingly despicable in them. The despicable thing in Milligan
came uppermost now. He fairly chuckled. He met the snub with a calm,
forgiving smile, and continued his shambling gait with what dignity he
could towards his bedroom opposite. Then he turned his head to see. His
enemy would meet an infuriated hornet--an Egyptian hornet!--and might
not notice it. He might step on it. He might not. But he was bound to
disturb it, and rouse it to attack. The chances were enormously on the
clerical side. And its sting meant death. "May God forgive me!" ran subconsciously through his mind. And side by
side with the repentant prayer ran also a recognition of the tempter's
eternal skill: "I hope the devil it will sting him!" It happened very quickly. The Rev. James Milligan lingered a moment
by his door to watch. He saw Mullins, the disgusting Mullins, step
blithely into the bathroom passage; he saw him pause, shrink back,
and raise his arm to protect his face. He heard him swear out aloud:
"What's the d----d thing doing here? Have I really got 'em again----?" And then he heard him laugh--a hearty, guffawing laugh of genuine
relief---- "It's _real_!" The moment of revulsion was overwhelming. It filled the churchly heart
with anguish and bitter disappointment. For a space he hated the whole
race of men. For the instant Mr. Mullins realised that the insect was not a fiery
illusion of his disordered nerves, he went forward without the smallest
hesitation. With his towel he knocked down the flying terror. Then he
stooped. He gathered up the venomous thing his well-aimed blow had
stricken so easily to the floor. He advanced with it, held at arm's
length, to the window. He tossed it out carelessly. The Egyptian hornet
flew away uninjured, and Mr. Mullins--the Mr. Mullins who drank,
gave nothing to the church, attended no services, hated parsons, and
proclaimed the fact with enthusiasm--this same detestable Mr. Mullins
went to his unearned bath without a scratch. But first he saw his
enemy standing in the doorway across the passage, watching him--and
understood. That was the awful part of it. Mullins would make a story
of it, and the story would go the round of the hotel. The Rev. James Milligan, however, proved that his reputation for
self-control was not undeserved. He conducted morning service half
an hour later with an expression of peace upon his handsome face. He
conquered all outward sign of inward spiritual vexation; the wicked, he
consoled himself, ever flourish like green bay trees. It was notorious
that the righteous never have any luck at all! That was bad enough. But what was worse--and the Rev. James Milligan remembered for very
long--was the superior ease with which Mullins had relegated both
himself and hornet to the same level of comparative insignificance. Mullins ignored them both--which proved that he felt himself superior. Infinitely worse than the sting of any hornet in the world: he really
_was_ superior. X

BY WATER


The night before young Larsen left to take up his new appointment in
Egypt he went to the clairvoyante. He neither believed nor disbelieved. He felt no interest, for he already knew his past and did not wish
to know his future. "Just to please me, Jim," the girl pleaded. "The
woman is wonderful. Before I had been five minutes with her she told
me your initials, so there _must_ be something in it." "She read your
thought," he smiled indulgently. "Even I can do that!" But the girl was
in earnest. He yielded; and that night at his farewell dinner he came
to give his report of the interview. The result was meagre and unconvincing: money was coming to him, he was
soon to make a voyage, and--he would never marry. "So you see how silly
it all is," he laughed, for they were to be married when his first
promotion came. He gave the details, however, making a little story of
it in the way he knew she loved. "But was that all, Jim?" The girl asked it, looking rather hard into
his face. "Aren't you hiding something from me?" He hesitated a moment,
then burst out laughing at her clever discernment. "There _was_ a
little more," he confessed, "but you take it all so seriously; I----"

He had to tell it then, of course. The woman had told him a lot of
gibberish about friendly and unfriendly elements. "She said water was
unfriendly to me; I was to be careful of water, or else I should come
to harm by it. _Fresh_ water only," he hastened to add, seeing that the
idea of shipwreck was in her mind. "Drowning?" the girl asked quickly. "Yes," he admitted with reluctance, but still laughing; "she did say
drowning, though drowning in no ordinary way." The girl's face showed uneasiness a moment. "What does that
mean--drowning in no ordinary way?" she asked, a catch in her breath. But that he could not tell her, because he did not know himself. He
gave, therefore, the exact words: "You will drown, but will not know
you drown." It was unwise of him. He wished afterwards he had invented a happier
report, or had kept this detail back. "I'm safe in Egypt, anyhow," he
laughed. "I shall be a clever man if I can find enough water in the
desert to do me harm!" And all the way from Trieste to Alexandria he
remembered the promise she had extracted--that he would never once go
on the Nile unless duty made it imperative for him to do so. He kept
that promise like the literal, faithful soul he was. His love was equal
to the somewhat quixotic sacrifice it occasionally involved. Fresh
water in Egypt there was practically none other, and in any case the
natrum works where his duty lay had their headquarters some distance
out into the desert. The river, with its banks of welcome, refreshing
verdure, was not even visible. Months passed quickly, and the time for leave came within measurable
distance. In the long interval luck had played the cards kindly for
him, vacancies had occurred, early promotion seemed likely, and his
letters were full of plans to bring her out to share a little house of
their own. His health, however, had not improved; the dryness did not
suit him; even in this short period his blood had thinned, his nervous
system deteriorated, and, contrary to the doctor's prophecy, the
waterless air had told upon his sleep. A damp climate liked him best,
and once the sun had touched him with its fiery finger. His letters made no mention of this. He described the life to her,
the work, the sport, the pleasant people, and his chances of increased
pay and early marriage. And a week before he sailed he rode out upon
a final act of duty to inspect the latest diggings his company were
making.