"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 search amongst the reeds and
bushes growing at the edge of the lake for the canoe of which we had
been told by the Kalubi. What if there were none? How could we cross
that wide stretch of deep water? Presently Hans, who, following
certain indications which caught his practised eye, had cast away to
the left, held up his hand and whistled.
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