"And a curious circumstance it is," continued Beatrice, who was somewhat of a botanist, "that it should be growing here."
"Why so?"
"Because it is a plant requiring cultivation. It does not grow wild, at least not in this country."
"Then your inference is that it has been planted here by human agency?"
"Sown is perhaps a better word than planted. It certainly did not spring up spontaneously from the soil."
"Hum! This raises a curious question. For what purpose was it sown? Is some one carrying on botanic experiments here? Or shall we say that my projected visit to the interior of the tumulus has been forestalled, and my unknown forerunner, desirous of renewing his visit at an early date, has left these tokens here to mark the point of entrance, probably having had the same difficulty as ourselves in discovering it? What simpler plan could he adopt than just to sprinkle here a few seeds of the white-flowering mandrake?"
Beatrice had nothing to say either for or against this last theory, and, after puzzling themselves in vain to account for the presence of the mandrake, they set off for Ormsby.
On their way they passed a small workshop belonging to the cemetery-mason. The man himself was standing at the door, and Beatrice stopped to exchange a few civilities with him.
"Well, Robin, how is the world using you?" she asked pleasantly.