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 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.  We ran to him.

“Here it is, Baas,” he said, and pointed to something in a tiny bush-fringed inlet, that at first sight looked like a heap of dead reeds.  We tore away at the reeds, and there, sure enough, was a canoe of sufficient size to hold twelve or fourteen people, and in it a number of paddles.

Another two minutes and we were rowing across that lake.