th. Zulus, I may say, do not care for flowers unless they bear a
fruit that is good to eat.

When I had satisfied myself with the splendour of these magnificent
blooms, I asked Mrs. Eversley what certain little mounds might be that
were dotted about the enclosure, beyond the circle of cultivated peaty
soil which surrounded the orchid's roots.

"They are the graves of the Mothers of the Holy Flower," she answered.
"There are twelve of them, and here is the spot chosen for the
thirteenth, which was to have been mine."

To change the subject I asked another question, namely: If there were
more such orchids growing in the country?

"No," she replied, "or at least I never heard of any. Indeed, I have
always been told that this one was brought from far away generations
ago. Also, under an ancient law, it is never allowed to increase. Any
shoots it sends up beyond this ring must be cut off by me and destroyed
with certain ceremonies. You see that seed-pod which has been left to
grow on the stalk of one of last year's blooms. It is now ripe, and on
the night of the next new moon, when the Kalubi comes to visit me,
I must with much ritual burn it in his presence, unless it has burst
before he arrives, in which case I must burn any seedlings that may
spring up with almost the same ritual."

"I don't think the Kalubi will come any more; at least, not while you
are here. Indeed, I am sure of it," I said.

As we were leaving the place, acting on my general principle of making
sure of anything of value when I get the chance, I broke off that ripe
seed-pod, which was of the size of an orange. No one was looking at the
time, and as it went straight into my pocket, no one missed it.

Then, leaving Stephen and the young lady to admire this Cypripedium--or
each other--in the enclosure, we three elders returned to the house to
discuss matters.

"John and Mrs. Eversley," I said, "by Heaven's mercy you are reunited
after a terrible separation of over twenty years. But what is to be
done now? The god, it is true, is dead, and therefore the passage of the
forest will be easy. But beyond it is the water which we have no means
of crossing and beyond the water that old wizard, the Motombo, sits in
the mouth of his cave watching like a spider in its web. And beyond
the Motombo and his cave are Komba, the new Kalubi and his tribe of
cannibals----"

"Cannibals!" interrupted Mrs. Eversley, "I never knew that they were
cannibals. Indeed, I