In spite of the sun so savage above the snow on the mountains, the water is mainly stagnant, perhaps years old. Maddened by their small water ration, the men frequently risk drinking the stagnant stuff. Recently three men died. Before they were buried a movement was noted in their corpses. At first it was thought they must still be alive; but it was ascertained that they were definitely dead. Their bodies were cut open, and an immense torpid pale worm was found in each man’s entrails. The seeds of these worms are obviously in the stagnant water, and strict orders have been issued that no more of it is to be drunk.

I dare not think what the days would be like if I still had Sheg.

And, from that, comes doubts which I am contemptible to feel.

But it seems senseless to kill a man for such small hate as I feel for him. I hate him, but when I look at the hate in Ooldra’s face I feel ashamed. My hate is small and lukewarm. She hates him, she waits patiently for the day of his death. She does not bring to her hate the vehemence my mother and I could summon at times, she might almost be listless, but she waits quietly and with certainty. A hate like that is deadly, and not at all human. It brings a chill to me.

I have thought of inviting Ooldra to do it for me, for she would certainly do it joyfully and with no mistake, but I must break my birth-prophecy.

I have decided that Smahil is ill.

He has been stung by some kind of insect. The place has swelled up and gone all bluish-black. When I touch it, he has to groan. I thought at first it was only a bruise. Blob (who is now Smahil’s groom as well as Ooldra’s) came to me this evening. We greeted each other ungraciously. “The lord’s ill,” he said. “You’re to come.” “What lord?” I said. “My master,” he said. “If you mean Noble Gagl,” I said, “I’m not coming because I couldn’t be less interested.”

He grunted as if my own statement had borne out his opinion of me and so he instead of me was on top of the conversation.

“It’s young Smahil,” he said, “and he wants you.”

The tone in which he brought out the last part of the sentence is indescribable.

Well, I went with him, though I thought it was another of Smahil’s cheating-tricks to get me, and Smahil was lying in his tent which I was astonished to find looked very familiar to me though I had only been there once before. However, that time was intense so must have impressed itself on my eyeballs. Anyway, he was lying on top of his bed and looking pale.