บทที่ บทที่ 28 · Conclusion

. Conclusion

At the sight of Jane, cries of relief and delight broke from every lip,

and as Tarzan’s car stopped beside the other, Professor Porter caught

his daughter in his arms.

For a moment no one noticed Tarzan, sitting silently in his seat.

Clayton was the first to remember, and, turning, held out his hand.

“How can we ever thank you?” he exclaimed. “You have saved us all. You

called me by name at the cottage, but I do not seem to recall yours,

though there is something very familiar about you. It is as though I

had known you well under very different conditions a long time ago.”

Tarzan smiled as he took the proffered hand.

“You are quite right, Monsieur Clayton,” he said, in French. “You will

pardon me if I do not speak to you in English. I am just learning it,

and while I understand it fairly well I speak it very poorly.”

“But who are you?” insisted Clayton, speaking in French this time

himself.

“Tarzan of the Apes.”

Clayton started back in surprise.

“By Jove!” he exclaimed. “It is true.”

And Professor Porter and Mr. Philander pressed forward to add their

thanks to Clayton’s, and to voice their surprise and pleasure at seeing

their jungle friend so far from his savage home.

The party now entered the modest little hostelry, where Clayton soon

made arrangements for their entertainment.

They were sitting in the little, stuffy parlor when the distant

chugging of an approaching automobile caught their attention.

Mr. Philander, who was sitting near the window, looked out as the car

drew in sight, finally stopping beside the other automobiles.

“Bless me!” said Mr. Philander, a shade of annoyance in his tone. “It

is Mr. Canler. I had hoped, er—I had thought or—er—how very happy we

should be that he was not caught in the fire,” he ended lamely.

“Tut, tut! Mr. Philander,” said Professor Porter. “Tut, tut! I have

often admonished my pupils to count ten before speaking. Were I you,

Mr. Philander, I should count at least a thousand, and then maintain a

discreet silence.”

“Bless me, yes!” acquiesced Mr. Philander. “But who is the clerical

appearing gentleman with him?”

Jane blanched.

Clayton moved uneasily in his chair.

Professor Porter removed his spectacles nervously, and breathed upon

them, but replaced them on his nose without wiping.

The ubiquitous Esmeralda grunted.

Only Tarzan did not comprehend.

Presently Robert Canler burst into the room.

“Thank God!” he cried. “I feared the worst, until I saw your car,

Clayton. I was cut off on the south road and had to go away back to

town, and then strike east to this road. I thought we’d never reach the

cottage.”

No one seemed to enthuse much. Tarzan eyed Robert Canler as Sabor eyes

her prey.

Jane glanced at him and coughed nervously.

“Mr. Canler,” she said, “this is Monsieur Tarzan, an old friend.”

Canler turned and extended his hand. Tarzan rose and bowed as only

D’Arnot could have taught a gentleman to do it, but he did not seem to

see Canler’s hand.

Nor did Canler appear to notice the oversight.

“This is the Reverend Mr. Tousley, Jane,” said Canler, turning to the

clerical party behind him. “Mr. Tousley, Miss Porter.”

Mr. Tousley bowed and beamed.

Canler introduced him to the others.

“We can have the ceremony at once, Jane,” said Canler. “Then you and I

can catch the midnight train in town.”

Tarzan understood the plan instantly. He glanced out of half-closed

eyes at Jane, but he did not move.

The girl hesitated. The room was tense with the silence of taut nerves.

All eyes turned toward Jane, awaiting her reply.

“Can’t we wait a few days?” she asked. “I am all unstrung. I have been

through so much today.”

Canler felt the hostility that emanated from each member of the party.

It made him angry.

“We have waited as long as I intend to wait,” he said roughly. “You

have promised to marry me. I shall be played with no longer. I have the

license and here is the preacher. Come Mr. Tousley; come Jane. There

are plenty of witnesses—more than enough,” he added with a disagreeable

inflection; and taking Jane Porter by the arm, he started to lead her

toward the waiting minister.

But scarcely had he taken a single step ere a heavy hand closed upon

his arm with a grip of steel.

Another hand shot to his throat and in a moment he was being shaken

high above the floor, as a cat might shake a mouse.

Jane turned in horrified surprise toward Tarzan.

And, as she looked into his face, she saw the crimson band upon his

forehead that she had seen that other day in far distant Africa, when

Tarzan of the Apes had closed in mortal combat with the great

anthropoid—Terkoz.

She knew that murder lay in that savage heart, and with a little cry of

horror she sprang forward to plead with the ape-man. But her fears were

more for Tarzan than for Canler. She realized the stern retribution

which justice metes to the murderer.

Before she could reach them, however, Clayton had jumped to Tarzan’s

side and attempted to drag Canler from his grasp.

With a single sweep of one mighty arm the Englishman was hurled across

the room, and then Jane laid a firm white hand upon Tarzan’s wrist, and

looked up into his eyes.

“For my sake,” she said.

The grasp upon Canler’s throat relaxed.

Tarzan looked down into the beautiful face before him.

“Do you wish this to live?” he asked in surprise.

“I do not wish him to die at your hands, my friend,” she replied. “I do

not wish you to become a murderer.”

Tarzan removed his hand from Canler’s throat.

“Do you release her from her promise?” he asked. “It is the price of

your life.”

Canler, gasping for breath, nodded.

“Will you go away and never molest her further?”

Again the man nodded his head, his face distorted by fear of the death

that had been so close.

Tarzan released him, and Canler staggered toward the door. In another

moment he was gone, and the terror-stricken preacher with him.

Tarzan turned toward Jane.

“May I speak with you for a moment, alone,” he asked.

The girl nodded and started toward the door leading to the narrow

veranda of the little hotel. She passed out to await Tarzan and so did

not hear the conversation which followed.

“Wait,” cried Professor Porter, as Tarzan was about to follow.

The professor had been stricken dumb with surprise by the rapid

developments of the past few minutes.

“Before we go further, sir, I should like an explanation of the events

which have just transpired. By what right, sir, did you interfere

between my daughter and Mr. Canler? I had promised him her hand, sir,

and regardless of our personal likes or dislikes, sir, that promise

must be kept.”

“I interfered, Professor Porter,” replied Tarzan, “because your

daughter does not love Mr. Canler—she does not wish to marry him. That

is enough for me to know.”

“You do not know what you have done,” said Professor Porter. “Now he

will doubtless refuse to marry her.”

“He most certainly will,” said Tarzan, emphatically.

“And further,” added Tarzan, “you need not fear that your pride will

suffer, Professor Porter, for you will be able to pay the Canler person

what you owe him the moment you reach home.”

“Tut, tut, sir!” exclaimed Professor Porter. “What do you mean, sir?”

“Your treasure has been found,” said Tarzan.

“What—what is that you are saying?” cried the professor. “You are mad,

man. It cannot be.”

“It is, though. It was I who stole it, not knowing either its value or

to whom it belonged. I saw the sailors bury it, and, ape-like, I had to

dig it up and bury it again elsewhere. When D’Arnot told me what it was

and what it meant to you I returned to the jungle and recovered it. It

had caused so much crime and suffering and sorrow that D’Arnot thought

it best not to attempt to bring the treasure itself on here, as had

been my intention, so I have brought a letter of credit instead.

“Here it is, Professor Porter,” and Tarzan drew an envelope from his

pocket and handed it to the astonished professor, “two hundred and

forty-one thousand dollars. The treasure was most carefully appraised

by experts, but lest there should be any question in your mind, D’Arnot

himself bought it and is holding it for you, should you prefer the

treasure to the credit.”

“To the already great burden of the obligations we owe you, sir,” said

Professor Porter, with trembling voice, “is now added this greatest of

all services. You have given me the means to save my honor.”

Clayton, who had left the room a moment after Canler, now returned.

“Pardon me,” he said. “I think we had better try to reach town before

dark and take the first train out of this forest. A native just rode by

from the north, who reports that the fire is moving slowly in this

direction.”

This announcement broke up further conversation, and the entire party

went out to the waiting automobiles.

Clayton, with Jane, the professor and Esmeralda occupied Clayton’s car,

while Tarzan took Mr. Philander in with him.

“Bless me!” exclaimed Mr. Philander, as the car moved off after

Clayton. “Who would ever have thought it possible! The last time I saw

you you were a veritable wild man, skipping about among the branches of

a tropical African forest, and now you are driving me along a Wisconsin

road in a French automobile. Bless me! But it is most remarkable.”

“Yes,” assented Tarzan, and then, after a pause, “Mr. Philander, do you

recall any of the details of the finding and burying of three skeletons

found in my cabin beside that African jungle?”

“Very distinctly, sir, very distinctly,” replied Mr. Philander.

“Was there anything peculiar about any of those skeletons?”

Mr. Philander eyed Tarzan narrowly.

“Why do you ask?”

“It means a great deal to me to know,” replied Tarzan. “Your answer may

clear up a mystery. It can do no worse, at any rate, than to leave it

still a mystery. I have been entertaining a theory concerning those

skeletons for the past two months, and I want you to answer my question

to the best of your knowledge—were the three skeletons you buried all

human skeletons?”

“No,” said Mr. Philander, “the smallest one, the one found in the crib,

was the skeleton of an anthropoid ape.”

“Thank you,” said Tarzan.

In the car ahead, Jane was thinking fast and furiously. She had felt

the purpose for which Tarzan had asked a few words with her, and she

knew that she must be prepared to give him an answer in the very near

future.

He was not the sort of person one could put off, and somehow that very

thought made her wonder if she did not really fear him.

And could she love where she feared?

She realized the spell that had been upon her in the depths of that

far-off jungle, but there was no spell of enchantment now in prosaic

Wisconsin.

Nor did the immaculate young Frenchman appeal to the primal woman in

her, as had the stalwart forest god.

Did she love him? She did not know—now.

She glanced at Clayton out of the corner of her eye. Was not here a man

trained in the same school of environment in which she had been

trained—a man with social position and culture such as she had been

taught to consider as the prime essentials to congenial association?

Did not her best judgment point to this young English nobleman, whose

love she knew to be of the sort a civilized woman should crave, as the

logical mate for such as herself?

Could she love Clayton? She could see no reason why she could not. Jane

was not coldly calculating by nature, but training, environment and

heredity had all combined to teach her to reason even in matters of the

heart.

That she had been carried off her feet by the strength of the young

giant when his great arms were about her in the distant African forest,

and again today, in the Wisconsin woods, seemed to her only

attributable to a temporary mental reversion to type on her part—to the

psychological appeal of the primeval man to the primeval woman in her

nature.

If he should never touch her again, she reasoned, she would never feel

attracted toward him. She had not loved him, then. It had been nothing

more than a passing hallucination, super-induced by excitement and by

personal contact.

Excitement would not always mark their future relations, should she

marry him, and the power of personal contact eventually would be dulled

by familiarity.

Again she glanced at Clayton. He was very handsome and every inch a

gentleman. She should be very proud of such a husband.

And then he spoke—a minute sooner or a minute later might have made all

the difference in the world to three lives—but chance stepped in and

pointed out to Clayton the psychological moment.

“You are free now, Jane,” he said. “Won’t you say yes—I will devote my

life to making you very happy.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

That evening in the little waiting room at the station Tarzan caught

Jane alone for a moment.

“You are free now, Jane,” he said, “and I have come across the ages out

of the dim and distant past from the lair of the primeval man to claim

you—for your sake I have become a civilized man—for your sake I have

crossed oceans and continents—for your sake I will be whatever you will

me to be. I can make you happy, Jane, in the life you know and love

best. Will you marry me?”

For the first time she realized the depths of the man’s love—all that

he had accomplished in so short a time solely for love of her. Turning

her head she buried her face in her arms.

What had she done? Because she had been afraid she might succumb to the

pleas of this giant, she had burned her bridges behind her—in her

groundless apprehension that she might make a terrible mistake, she had

made a worse one.

And then she told him all—told him the truth word by word, without

attempting to shield herself or condone her error.

“What can we do?” he asked. “You have admitted that you love me. You

know that I love you; but I do not know the ethics of society by which

you are governed. I shall leave the decision to you, for you know best

what will be for your eventual welfare.”

“I cannot tell him, Tarzan,” she said. “He too, loves me, and he is a

good man. I could never face you nor any other honest person if I

repudiated my promise to Mr. Clayton. I shall have to keep it—and you

must help me bear the burden, though we may not see each other again

after tonight.”

The others were entering the room now and Tarzan turned toward the

little window.

But he saw nothing outside—within he saw a patch of greensward

surrounded by a matted mass of gorgeous tropical plants and flowers,

and, above, the waving foliage of mighty trees, and, over all, the blue

of an equatorial sky.

In the center of the greensward a young woman sat upon a little mound

of earth, and beside her sat a young giant. They ate pleasant fruit and

looked into each other’s eyes and smiled. They were very happy, and

they were all alone.

His thoughts were broken in upon by the station agent who entered

asking if there was a gentleman by the name of Tarzan in the party.

“I am Monsieur Tarzan,” said the ape-man.

“Here is a message for you, forwarded from Baltimore; it is a cablegram

from Paris.”

Tarzan took the envelope and tore it open. The message was from

D’Arnot.

It read:

Fingerprints prove you Greystoke. Congratulations.

D’ARNOT.

As Tarzan finished reading, Clayton entered and came toward him with

extended hand.

Here was the man who had Tarzan’s title, and Tarzan’s estates, and was

going to marry the woman whom Tarzan loved—the woman who loved Tarzan.

A single word from Tarzan would make a great difference in this man’s

life.

It would take away his title and his lands and his castles, and—it

would take them away from Jane Porter also. “I say, old man,” cried

Clayton, “I haven’t had a chance to thank you for all you’ve done for

us. It seems as though you had your hands full saving our lives in

Africa and here.

“I’m awfully glad you came on here. We must get better acquainted. I

often thought about you, you know, and the remarkable circumstances of

your environment.

“If it’s any of my business, how the devil did you ever get into that

bally jungle?”

“I was born there,” said Tarzan, quietly. “My mother was an Ape, and of

course she couldn’t tell me much about it. I never knew who my father

was.”

FOR THE

FURTHER ADVENTURES OF LORD GREYSTOKE

READ THE RETURN OF TARZAN