pt and comparatively free
from weeds. At first we wondered how this could be, till I remembered
that the Kalubi, or someone, had told me that it was tended by the
servants of the Mother of the Flower, who were generally albinos or
mutes.

We crossed it and pushed on rapidly up the mountain, once more following
an easy and well-beaten path, for now we saw that we were approaching
what we thought must be the edge of a crater. Indeed, our excitement was
so extreme that we did not speak, only scrambled forward, Brother John,
notwithstanding his lame leg, leading at a greater pace than we could
equal. He was the first to reach our goal, closely followed by Stephen.
Watching, I saw him sink down as though in a swoon. Stephen also
appeared astonished, for he threw up his hands.

I rushed to them, and this was what I saw. Beneath us was a steep slope
quite bare of forest, which ceased at its crest. This slope stretched
downwards for half a mile or more to the lip of a beautiful lake, of
which the area was perhaps two hundred acres. Set in the centre of
the deep blue water of this lake, which we discovered afterwards to
be unfathomable, was an island not more than five and twenty or thirty
acres in extent, that seemed to be cultivated, for on it we could see
fields, palms and other fruit-bearing trees. In the middle of the island
stood a small, near house thatched after the fashion of the country, but
civilized in its appearance, for it was oblong, not round, and encircled
by a verandah and a reed fence. At a distance from this house were a
number of native huts, and in front of it a small enclosure surrounded
by a high wall, on the top of which mats were fixed on poles as though
to screen something from wind or sun.

"The Holy Flower lives there, you bet," gasped Stephen excitedly--he
could think of nothing but that confounded orchid. "Look, the mats
are up on the sunny side to prevent its scorching, and those palms are
planted round to give it shade."

"The Mother of the Flower lives there," whispered Brother John, pointing
to the house. "Who is she? Who is she? Suppose I should be mistaken
after all. God, let me not be mistaken, for it would be more than I can
bear."

"We had better try to find out," I remarked practically, though I am
sure I sympathised with his suspense, and started down the slope at a
run.

In five minutes or less we reached the foot of it, and, breathless and
perspiring though we were, began to se