in the wildest parts of Sumatra or Australia, and then scarcely once in a lifetime."
He was now thoroughly aroused.
"What is the family of this wonderful shrub?" he asked. "I have a dim recollection of having heard of it. Let me see—isn't it called—"
"The devil tree by the natives, by others the octopus plant, "I broke in, "But I have heard that the name is somewhat of a misnomer. It is said that it is rather a tree of heaven, for it distills a rare and delicious nectar which has a wonderful rejuvenating power. At the same time it intoxicates in a strange and mysterious manner, causing him who drinks to revel in celestial visions of love and radiant beauty. Instead of leaving one depressed, as is the case with alcohol, it is said that the impression lingers, the face grows younger, and he who sips is actually loved by any of the female sex whose eyes look upon him. Indeed, I have heard that if our countryman, Ponce de Leon, had gone to the South Seas instead of to Florida, he would have really discovered the fountain of youth for which he sought."
I looked at Silvela. His eyes were sparkling, and he was breathing quickly; I knew I had found his weak point. His was a dreamy, half-superstitions nature, and my words appealed to him strongly.
"Ah!" he exclaimed. "Would that I could see this marvelous phenomenon and sip of its celestial juice!"
"It could be done," I replied, hesitatingly, "but it would involve some hardship and considerable danger."
"Did you ever see one of these plants?"
"Yes; not two days since."
Silvela sprang to his feet, with a Spanish oath.
"Dios mio!" he cried. "Rodriguez, why did you not tell me? When can we start to find it?
"Softly," I admonished, "I told you there was danger. Haven't you heard that this devil's plant has been known to gorge itself upon human flesh?"
"The wild story of some frightened native," he scoffed. "Take me to it and nothing shall prevent me from testing the fabled powers of its juices. Stop! Did you not drink of this delicious nectar?"
I shook my head sadly.
"No, I had no wish to try. Why should I seek to become young in body when my heart is old within?"
"You were afraid," he sneered, "afraid of the trailing tendrils of this plant devil."
"Have it that way if you wish," I answered indifferently. "However, if in spite of my warning, you still persist in wishing to see this strange freak of nature, I will do my best to guide you to it; but, I repeat, the way is long and difficult, and you had better leave this cursed thing alone."
"We will start in the morning," he asserted decisively, as he arose to leave.
I said nothing more, but, alone in my room, I laughed like a devil at the success of my ruse.
NEXT MORNING the weather was squally and tempestuous, and I was afraid that the fire of Silvela's enthusiasm would be burning low. But I also knew that opposition would be fuel to the flame.
"I fear we shall have to postpone our journey," I remarked, when he appeared.
If Silvela had any doubts as to the advisability of our starting out that morning, they vanished at once.
"Nonsense!" he rasped. "It is fine weather for our purpose."
"All right, my friend," I replied. "Remember, though, that I advised against going."
"The consequences be upon my head," he rejoined. "Come, let us be on our way."
Our path was strewn with difficulties, and we progressed but slowly. At times the wind howled and whistled across the wild spaces with a sound so mournful that it sent a shudder through me. The heavens were murky, and low, dark clouds raced across the leaden sky as though fleeing from some scene of horror. Great rocks impeded our progress at every step, and their grotesque forms seemed to leer at us evilly as we passed. At length Silvela paused and mopped his brow.
"Come," I exclaimed, "you are tired and exhausted. The day is declining. Let us go back."
Silvela hesitated, and there was an instant in which I was afraid he would take me at my word. Then he straightened, and his chin set determinedly.
"No. We have come far; we will continue to the end. Lead the way."
"So let it be," I returned grimly. "We will continue to the end."
I thought a tremor passed over Silvela's sturdy form and that his face paled slightly, but he turned resolutely and followed me as I pushed forward once more.
It was late in the afternoon when we approached the end of our journey. The clouds had become less dense, and the sun, hanging low upon the horizon, gleamed through with a sullen glare. The whole western sky bore the appearance of curdled blood.
At length I led the way around an immense rock, stopped, and pointed to the north. There, but a short distance ahead, stood the ghastly plant.
IT WAS, in appearance, like a huge pineapple about ten or twelve feet in height. From the top sprang the broad, dark green leaves, trailing downward to the ground and enclosing the plant in a kind of cage.
Inside these leaves, at the top of its bulky body, could be seen two round, fleshy plates, one above the other. Dripping constantly from these was a golden, intoxicating nectar, the fatal lure that tempts the victim to his fate. Surrounding these plates were long green tendrils or arms like those upon an octopus. A slight pressure upon one of these disks would cause the serpent like tendrils to enfold the victim in their deadly embrace, while the sweet fluid rendered the poor wretch oblivious to danger until it was too late.
Silvela stood for a moment silently looking at the strange plant at which I pointed.
"It is an uncanny sight," he muttered, and a shiver ran over his body.
"Uncanny it is, indeed," I replied. "I, for one, have no desire to make a closer acquaintance."
"You were always ready to show the white feather," he derided scornfully.
I did not openly resent this; I could bear insult for a little while longer.
"Silvela," I said, "Let us leave this dreadful plant alone. I implore you to return with me now. You have seen this horrid thing, why should you care to test the legendary power of the fluid which it distills?"
"Because I love," he replied in a dreamy voice, "and I wish to be loved beyond all men. If it be, indeed, the fountain of youth, what danger can deter me from sipping its miraculous juice?"
"Then I will say no more. Drink, then, of the fabled wonders of this tree of destiny, and may all the joy and all the happiness to which your life entitles you, come to you as you drink the nectar that drips in golden drops from its heart."
Silvela darted a quick look at me from his dark eyes, as though half suspecting a hidden meaning in my words. Then he stepped quickly toward the ominous plant.
"Careful!" I cautioned, "Do not touch the long, green tendrils. There is
