that account experience any notable desire to
accompany her. On the contrary, he infinitely preferred to remain where
he was. But there was no help for him, not even an excuse. He had his
choice between going and being downright rude. Accordingly he smiled,
but inwardly he swore.

"Show him the rafflesia," Mrs. Lyeth added.

"The what?"

"You shall see it; come."

Liance turned and led the way, and as Tancred followed he marvelled at
the widow's attitude. If he had not kissed her at all she could not have
appeared more unconcerned.

To the left was a grove of betel-nut palms, to the right a patch of
aroids, broad and leathery of leaf. Save for a whir of pheasants in the
distance, and the hum of insects, the hour was still. Even the sea was
silent; and had it not been for the odors of strange plants Tancred
could have closed his eyes and fancied himself in some New England
intervale, loitering through a summer noon. It needed but the toll of a
bell to make it seem a Sabbath. A mosquito alighted on his hand, and he
slaughtered it with a slap. Presently he found himself in a part of the
plantation which he had not yet visited, a strip of turf, the
background defended by trees. And there, in the centre, was an object
such as he had never seen before. He turned inquiringly to Liance; her
eyes were on his own.

"The rafflesia," she lisped, and nodded.

And as he moved to get a nearer view she caught him by the arm.

"Be careful," she added, and warned him with a glance.

But Tancred was not one to fear the immobile; he moved yet nearer to it,
the girl hovering at his side. And as he moved there came to greet him a
heavy, sullen odor, a smell like to that of an acid burning and blent
with rose.

"The heart is poisonous," the girl continued; "don't touch it without
gloves."

The admonition, however, was unnecessary. Tancred was motionless with
surprise. Before him was a flower, its petals of such consistency and of
such unpleasant hue that they resembled huge slabs of uncooked veal. The
chalice was deep enough to hold two gallons of liquid, the pistil was
red, and the supporting stem was gnarled and irruptive with
excrescences. In appearance it suggested an obese and giant lily, grown
in a nightmare and watered with blood. It was hideous yet fascinating,
as monstrosity ever is. And as Tancred stared, a page of forgotten
botany turned in his mind, and he remembered that he had read of this
plant, which Sumatra alo