 XXVI. Miriam, dazed by the unexpected sight of Korak, whom she had long given up as dead, permitted herself to be led away by Baines. Among the tents he guided her safely to the palisade, and there, following Korak's instructions, the Englishman pitched a noose over the top of one of the upright logs that formed the barrier. With difficulty he reached the top, and then lured his hand to assist Miriam to his side. "'Come,' he whispered, we must hurry.' And then, as though she had awakened from asleep, Miriam came to herself. Back there, fighting her enemies, alone was Korak, her place was by his side, fighting with him and for him. She glanced up at Baines. "'Go,' she called, make your way back to Buona, and bring help. My place is here. You can do no good remaining. Get away while you can, and bring the big Buona back with you.' Silently the honourable Morrison Baines slid to the ground inside the palisade to Miriam's side. "'It was only for you that I left him,' he said, nodding toward the tents they had just left. I knew that he could hold them longer than I, and give you a chance to escape that I might not be able to have given you. It was I, though, who should have remained. I heard you call him Korak, and so I know now who he is. He befriended you. I would have wronged you. No, don't interrupt. I'm going to tell you the truth now and let you know just what a beast I have been. I planned to take you to London, as you know, but I did not plan to marry you. Yes, shrink from me. I deserve it. I deserve your contempt and loathing, but I didn't know then what love was. Since then I have learned something else, what a cad and what a coward I have been all my life. I looked down upon those whom I considered my social inferiors. I did not think you good enough to bear my name. Since Hanson tricked me and took you for himself, I have been through hell, but it has made a man of me, though too late. Now I can come to you with an offer of honest love, which will realize the honour of having such as you share my name with me." For a moment Mariam was silent, buried in thought. Her first question seemed irrelevant. "'How did you happen to be in this village?' she asked. He told her all that had transpired since the black had told him of Hanson's duplicity. "'You say that you are a coward,' she said. "'And yet you have done all this to save me? The courage that it must have taken to tell me the things that you told me but a moment since, while courage of a different sort, proves that you are no moral coward and the other proves that you are not a physical coward. I could not love a coward. "'You mean that you love me?' he gasped in astonishment, taking a step toward her as though to gather her into his arms, but she placed her hand against him and pushed him gently away, as much as to say, not yet. What she did mean, she scarcely knew. She thought that she loved him. Of that there can be no question. Nor did she think that love for this young Englishman was disloyalty to Korak, for her love for Korak was undiminished, the love of a sister for an indulgent brother. As they stood there for the moment of their conversation, the sounds of tumult in the village subsided. "'They have killed him,' whispered Miriam. The statement brought Baines to a realization of the cause of their return. "'Wait here,' he said. "'I will go and see. If he is dead we can do him no good. If he lives I will do my best to free him.' "'We will go together,' replied Miriam. "'Come!' and she led the way back toward the tent in which they last had seen Korak. As they went they were often forced to throw themselves to the ground in the shadow of a tent or hut, for people were passing hurriedly to and fro now. The whole village was aroused and moving about. The return to the tent of Ali Ben-Kaden took much longer than had their swift flight to the palisade. Cautiously they crept to the slit that Korak's knife had made in the rear wall. Miriam peered within. The rear apartment was empty. She crawled through the aperture, Baines at her heels, and then silently crossed the space to the rugs that partitioned the tent into two rooms. Parting the hangings, Miriam looked into the front room. It too was deserted. She crossed to the door of the tent and looked out. Then she gave a little gasp of horror. Baines at her shoulder looked past her to the site that had startled her, and he too exclaimed, but his was an oath of anger. A hundred feet away they saw Korak bound to a stake. The brush piled about him, already a light. The Englishman pushed Miriam to one side and started to run for the doomed man. What he could do in the face of scores of hostile blacks and Arabs he did not stop to consider. At the same instant Tantor broke through the palisade and charged the group. In the face of the maddened beast the crowd turned and fled, carrying Baines backward with them. In a moment it was all over, and the elephant had disappeared with his prize. But pandemonium reigned throughout the village. Men, women, and children ran helter-skelter for safety. Curse fled, yelping. The horses and camels and donkeys terrorized by the trumpeting of the packaderm kicked and pulled at their tethers. A dozen or more broke loose, and it was the galloping of these past him that brought a sudden idea into Baines' head. He turned to search for Miriam only to find her at his elbow. The horses, he cried, if we can get a couple of them. Filled with the idea, Miriam led him to the far end of the village. "'Loosen two of them,' she said, and lead them back into the shadows behind those huts. I know where there are saddles. I will bring them and the bridles.' And before he could stop her she was gone. Baines quickly untied two of the resty of animals and led them to the point designated by Miriam. Here he waited impatiently for what seemed an hour, but was in reality but a few minutes. Then he saw the girl approaching beneath the burden of two saddles. Quickly they placed these upon the horses. They could see by the light of the torture fire that still burned that the blacks and A-Rabs were recovering from their panic. Men were running about, gathering in the loose stalk, and two or three were already leading their capties back to the end of the village, where Miriam and Baines were busy with the trappings of their mounts. Now the girl flung herself into the saddle. "'Hurry,' she whispered, we shall have to run for it. Ride through the gap that Tandor made. And if she saw Baines swing his leg over the back of his horse, she shook the reins free over her mount's neck. With a lunge the nervous beast leaped forward. The shortest path led straight through the center of the village and this Miriam took. Baines was close behind her, their horses running at full speed. So sudden and impetuous was their dash for escape that it carried them half way across the village before the surprised inhabitants were aware of what was happening. Then an A-Rab recognized them, and with a cry of alarm raised his rifle and fired. The shot was a signal for a bolly and amid the rattle of musketry Miriam and Baines leaped their flying mounts through the breach in the palisade and were gone up the well-worn trail toward the north. And Korak, Tandor carried him deep into the jungle, nor paused until no sound from the distant village reached his keen ears. Then he laid his burden gently down. Korak struggled to free himself from his bonds, but even his great strength was unable to cope with the many strands of hard knotted cord that bound him. While he lay there working and resting by turns, the elephants stood guard above him, nor was their jungle enemy with the hardy-hood to tempt the sudden death that lay in that mighty bulk. Dawn came and still Korak was no nearer freedom than before. He commenced to believe that he should die there of thirst and starvation with plenty all about him, for he knew that Tandor could not unloose the knots that held him. And while he struggled through the night with the bonds, Baines and Miriam were riding rapidly northward along the river. The girl had assured Baines that Korak was safe in the jungle with Tandor. It had not occurred to her that the eight-man might not be able to burst his bonds. Baines had been wounded by a shot from the rifle of one of the A-Rabs, and the girl wanted to get him back to Buona's home, where he could be properly cared for. Then, she said, I shall get Buona to come with me and search for Korak. He must come and live with us. All night they rode, and the day was still young when they came suddenly upon a party hurrying southward. It was Buona himself and his sleek black warriors. At sight of Baines the big Englishman's brows contracted in a scowl, but he waited to hear Miriam's story before giving vent to the long anger in his breast. When she had finished he seemed to have forgotten Baines. His thoughts were occupied with another subject. You say that you found Korak, yes? You really saw him? Yes, replied Miriam, as plainly as I see you, and I want you to come with me, Buona, and help me find him again. Did you see him? He turned toward the Honourable Morrison. Yes, sir, replied Baines, very plainly. What sort of a peering man is he? continued Buona, about how old, should you say? I should say that he was an Englishman about my own age, replied Baines, though he might be older. He is remarkably muscled and exceedingly tanned. His eyes and hair, did you notice them? Buona spoke rapidly, almost excitedly. It was Miriam who answered him. Korak's hair is black and his eyes are gray, she said. Buona turned to his headman. Take Miss Miriam and Mr. Baines home, he said. I am going into the jungle. Let me go with you, Buona, cried Miriam. You are going to search for Korak. Let me go, too." Buona turned sadly but firmly upon the girl. Your place, he said, is beside the man you love. Then he motioned to his headman to take his horse and commence the return journey to the farm. Miriam slowly mounted the tired Arabian that had brought her from the village of the Sheik. A litter was rigged for the now feverish Baines, and the little cavalcade was soon slowly winding off along the river trail. Buona stood watching them until they were out of sight. Not once had Miriam turned her eyes backward. She rode with bowed head and drooping shoulders. Buona sighed. He loved the little Arab girl, as he might have loved an own daughter. He realized that Baines had redeemed himself, and so he could interpose no objections now if Miriam really loved the man. But somehow, some way, Buona could not convince himself that the Honorable Morrison was worthy of his little Miriam. Slowly he turned toward a nearby tree. Leaping upward he caught a lower branch and drew himself up among the branches. His movements were cat-like and agile. High under the trees he made his way, and there commenced to divest himself of his clothing. From the game bag slung across one shoulder he drew a long strip of dough-skin, a neatly coiled rope, and a wicked-looking knife. The dough-skin he fashioned into a loincloth. The rope he looped over one shoulder, and the knife he thrust into the belt formed by his g-string. When he stood erect, his head thrown back and his great chest expanded, a grim smile touched his lips for a moment. His nostrils dilated as he sniffed the jungle odors. His gray eyes narrowed. He crouched and leaped to a lower limb, and was away through the trees toward the southeast, bearing away from the river. He moved swiftly, stopping only occasionally to raise his voice in a weird and piercing scream, and to listen for a moment after for a reply. He had traveled thus for several hours when, ahead of him, and a little to his left, he heard far off in the jungle a faint response, the cry of a bull-ape answering his cry. His nerves tingled and his eyes lighted as the sound fell upon his ears. Again he voiced his hideous call, and sped forward in the new direction. Korak finally becoming convinced that he must die if he remained where he was, waiting for the sucker that could not come, spoke to Tantor in the strange tongue that the great beast understood. He commanded the elephant to lift him and carry him toward the northeast. There recently Korak had seen both white men and black. If he could come upon one of the latter it would be a simple matter to command Tantor to capture the fellow, and then Korak could get him to release him from the stake. It was worth trying, at least. Better than lying there in the jungle until he died. As Tantor bore him along through the forest, Korak called aloud now and then in the hope of attracting Akut's band of anthropoids, whose wanderings often brought them into their neighborhood, Akut, he thought, might possibly be able to negotiate the knots. He had done so upon that other occasion when the Russian had bound Korak years before, and Akut to the south of him heard his calls faintly and came. There was another who heard them too. After Buona had left his party, sending them back toward the farm, Buona had written for a short distance with bowed head. What thoughts passed through that active brain, who may say? Presently she seemed to come to a decision. She called the headman to her side. I am going back with Buona, she announced. The black sure is head. No, he announced. Buona says I take you home, so I take you home. You refuse to let me go, asked the girl. The black nodded and fell to the rear where he might better watch her. Miriam half smiled. Presently her horse passed beneath a low-hanging branch, and the black headman found himself gazing at the girl's empty saddle. He ran forward to the tree unto which she had disappeared. He could see nothing of her. He called, but there was no response, unless it might have been a low, taunting laugh far to the right. He sent his men to the jungle to search for her, but they came back empty-handed. After a while he resumed his march toward the farm, for Baines by this time was delirious with fever. Miriam raced straight back toward the point she imagined Tantor would make for, a point where she knew the elephants often gathered deep in the forest due east of the Sheik's village. She moved silently and swiftly. From her mind she had expunged all thoughts other than that she must reach Korak and bring him back with her. It was her place to do that. Then, too, had come the tantalizing fear that all might not be well with him. She upbraided herself for not thinking of that before, of letting her desire to get the wounded Morrison back to the bungalow blind her the possibilities of Korak's need for her. She had been traveling rapidly for several hours, without rest, when she heard ahead of her the familiar cry of a great ape calling to his kind. She did not reply, only increased her speed until she almost flew. Now there came to her her sensitive nostrils the scent of Tantor, and she knew that she was on the right trail and close to him she sought. She did not call out because she wished to surprise him, and presently she did, breaking into the side of them as the great elephant shuffled ahead balancing the man and the heavy stake upon his head, holding them there with his up-curled trunk. Korak! cried Miriam from the foliage above him. Instantly the bull swung about, lured his burden to the ground, and trumpeting savagely prepared to defend his comrade. The ape-man, recognizing the girl's voice, fell to a sudden lump in his throat. Miriam! he called back to her. Happily the girl clamored to the ground and ran forward to release Korak, but Tantor lured his head ominously and trumpeted a warning. Go back! Go back! cried Korak. He will kill you! Miriam paused. Tantor! she called to the huge brute. Don't you remember me? I am Little Miriam. I used to ride on your broad back. But the bull only rumbled in his throat and shook his tusks in angry defiance. Then Korak tried to placate him, tried to order him away, that the girl might approach and release him. But Tantor would not go. He saw in every human being other than Korak an enemy. He thought the girl bent upon harming his friend, and he would take no chances. For an hour the girl and the man tried to find some means whereby they might circumvent the beast's ill-directed guardianship. But all to no avail. Tantor stood his ground in grim determination to let no one approach Korak. Presently the man hit upon a scheme. Pretend to go away, he called to the girl. Keep downwind from us so that Tantor won't get your scent. Then follow us. After a while I'll have him put me down and find some pretext for sending him away. While he is gone you can slip up and cut my bonds. Have you a knife? Yes, I have a knife," she replied. I'll go now. I think we may be able to fool him. But don't be too sure. Tantor invented cunning. Korak smiled, for he knew that the girl was right. Presently she had disappeared. The elephant listened and raised his trunk to catch your scent. Korak commanded him to raise him to his head once more and proceed upon their way. After a moment's hesitation he did as he was bid. It was then that Korak heard the distant call of an ape. Acoot, he thought. Good! Tantor knew Acoot well. He would let him approach. Raising his voice Korak replied to the call of the ape, but he let Tantor move off with him through the jungle. It would do no harm to try the other plan. They had come to a clearing and plainly Korak smelled water. Here was a good place and a good excuse. He ordered Tantor to lay him down and go and fetch him water in his trunk. The big beast deposited him upon the grass in the center of the clearing. Then he stood with cocked ears and attentive trunk, searching for the slightest indication of danger. There seemed to be none, and he moved away in the direction of the little brook that Korak knew was some two or three hundred yards away. The ape-man could scarce help smiling, as he thought how cleverly he had tricked his friend. But well as he knew Tantor he little guessed the guile of his cunning brain. The animal ambled off across the clearing and disappeared in the jungle beyond in the direction of the stream. But scarce had his great bulk been screened by the dense foliage, then he wheeled about and came cautiously back to the edge of the clearing where he could see without being seen. Tantor by nature is suspicious. Now he still feared the return of the sheat Harman Gany who had attempted to attack his Korak. He would just stand there for a moment and assure himself that all was well before he continued on toward the water. Ah, it was well that he did. There she was now, dropping from the branches of a tree across the clearing and running swiftly toward the ape-man. Tantor waited. He would let her reach Korak before he charged. That would ensure that she had no chance of escape. His little eyes blazed savagely. His tail was elevated stiffly. He could scarce restrain a desire to trumpet forth his rage to the world. Miriam was almost at Korak's side when Tantor saw the long knife in her hand and then he broke forth from the jungle, bellowing horribly and charged down upon the frail girl. End of Chapter 26 Korak screamed commands to his huge protector in an effort to halt him but all to no avail. Miriam raced toward the bordering trees with all the speed that lay in her swift little feet but Tantor, for all his huge bulk, drove down upon her with the rapidity of an express train. Korak lay where he could see the whole frightful tragedy. The cold sweat broke out upon his body. His heart seemed to have stopped its beating. Miriam might reach the trees before Tantor overtook her but even her agility would not carry her beyond the reach of that relentless trunk she would be dragged down and tossed. Korak could picture the whole frightful scene. Then Tantor would follow her up, goring the frail little body with his relentless tusks or trampling it into an unrecognizable mass beneath his ponderous feet. He was almost upon her now. Korak wanted to close his eyes but could not. His throat was dry and parts. Never in all his savage existence had he suffered such blighting terror. Never before had he known what terror meant. A dozen more strides in the brute would seize her. What was that? Korak's eyes started from their sockets. A strange figure had leaped from the tree the shade of which Miriam already had reached, leaped beyond the girl straight into the path of the charging elephant. It was a naked white giant. Across his shoulder a coil of rope was looped. In the band of his G-string was a hunting knife. Otherwise he was unarmed. With naked hands he faced the maddening Tantor. A sharp command broke from the stranger's lips. The great beast halted in his tracks and Miriam swung herself upward into the tree to safety. Korak breathed a sigh of relief, not unmixed with wonder. He fastened his eyes upon the face of Miriam's deliver and as recognition slowly filtered into his understanding they went wide in incredulity and surprise. Tantor, still rumbling angrily, stood swaying to and fro close before the giant white man. Then the latter stepped straight beneath the upraised trunk and spoke a low word of command. The great beast ceased his muttering. The savage light died from his eyes and as the stranger stepped forward toward Korak Tantor trailed docilely at his heels. Miriam was watching too and wondering. Suddenly the man turned toward her as though recollecting her presence after a moment of forgetfulness. Come, Miriam, he called, and then she recognized him with a startled, Buana! Quickly the girl dropped from the tree and ran to his side. Tantor cocked a questioning eye at the white giant, but receiving a warning word let Miriam approach. Together the two walked to where Korak lay, his eyes wide with wonder and filled with a pathetic appeal for forgiveness, and may have a glad thankfulness for the miracle that had brought these two of all others to his side. Jack cried the white giant kneeling at the ape-man's side. Father came chokingly from the killer's lips. Thank God that it was you! No one else in all the jungle could have stopped Tantor. Quickly the man cut the bonds that held Korak and as the youth leaped to his feet and threw his arms about his father, the older man turned toward Miriam. I thought, he said sternly, that I told you to return to the farm. Korak was looking at them wonderingly. In his heart was a great yearning to take the girl in his arms, but in time he remembered the other, the dapper young English gentleman, and that he was but a savage uncouth ape-man. Miriam looked up pleadingly into Buona's eyes. You told me, she said in a very small voice, that my place was beside the man I loved, and she turned her eyes toward Korak all filled with the wonderful light that no other man had yet seen in them and that none other ever would. The killer started toward her without stretched arms, but suddenly he fell upon one knee before her instead, and lifting her hand to his lips kissed it more reverently than he could have kissed the hand of his country's queen. A rumble from Tantor brought the three, all jungle-bred, to instant alertness. Tantor was looking toward the trees behind them, and as their eyes followed his gaze, the head and shoulders of a great ape appeared amidst the foliage. For a moment the creature eyed them, and then from its throat rose a loud scream of recognition and of joy, and a moment later the beast had leaped to the ground, followed by a score of bulls like himself, and was waddling toward them, shouting in the primordial tongue of the anthropoid, Tarzan has returned! Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle! It was acute, and instantly he commenced leaping and bounding about the trio, uttering hideous shrieks and mouthings that to any other human beings might have indicated the most ferocious rage. But these three knew that the king of the apes was doing homage to a king greater than himself. In his wake leaped his shaggy bulls, vying with one another as to which could spring the highest, and which utter the most uncanny sounds. Korak laid his hand affectionately upon his father's shoulder. There is but one Tarzan, he said. There can never be another. Two days later the three dropped from the trees on the edge of the plain across which they could see the smoke rising from the bungalow and the cookhouse chimneys. Tarzan of the apes had regained his civilized clothing from the tree where he had hidden it, and as Korak refused to enter the presence of his mother in the savage half-raiment that he had worn so long, and as Miriam would not leave him for fear as she explained that he would change his mind and run off into the jungle again, the father went on ahead to the bungalow for horses and clothes. My dear met him at the gate, her eyes filled with questioning and sorrow, for she saw that Miriam was not with him. Where is she? she asked, her voice trembling. Muviri told me that she disobeyed your instructions and ran off into the jungle after you had left him. Oh, John, I cannot bear to lose her, too. And Lady Graystoke broke down and wept as she pillaged her head upon the broad breast where so often before she had found comfort in the great tragedies of her life. Lord Graystoke raised her head and looked down into her eyes, his own smiling and filled with the light of happiness. What is it, John? she cried. You have good news? Do not keep me waiting for it. I want to be quite sure that you can stand hearing the best news that ever came to either of us, he said. Joy never kills, she cried. You have found her? She could not bring herself to hope for the impossible. Yes, Jane, he said, and his voice was husky with emotion. I have found her and him. Where is he? Where are they? she demanded. Out there at the edge of the jungle. He wouldn't come to you in his savage leopard skin and his nakedness. He sent me to fetch him some civilized clothing. She clapped her hands in ecstasy and turned to run toward the bungalow. Wait! she cried over her shoulder. I have all his little suits. I have saved them all. I will bring one to you. Tarzan laughed and called to her to stop. The only clothing on the place that will fit him, he said, is mine. If it isn't too small for him, your little boy has grown, Jane. She laughed too. She felt like laughing at everything or at nothing. The world was all love and happiness and joy once more. The world that had been shrouded in the gloom of her great sorrow for so many years. So great was her joy that for the moment she forgot the sad message that awaited Miriam. She called to Tarzan after he had ridden away to prepare her for it, but he did not hear and rode on without knowing himself what the event was to which his wife referred. And so an hour later Korak the killer rode home to his mother, the mother whose image had never faded in his boy's heart, and found in her arms and her eyes the love and forgiveness that he pled for. And then the mother turned toward Miriam, an expression of pitying sorrow erasing the happiness from her eyes. "'My little girl,' she said, in the midst of our happiness a great sorrow awaits you. Mr. Baines did not survive his wound.' The expression of sorrow in Miriam's eyes expressed only what she sincerely felt, but it was not the sorrow of a woman bereft of her best beloved. "'I am sorry,' she said, quite simply. He would have done me a great wrong, but he aptly atoned before he died. Once I thought that I loved him. At first it was only fascination for a type that was new to me. Then it was respect for a brave man who had the moral courage to admit a sin, and the physical courage to face death, to right the wrong he had committed. But it was not love. I did not know what love was until I knew that Korak lived.' And she turned toward the killer with a smile. Lady Grey Stoke looked quickly up into the eyes of her son, the son who one day would be Lord Grey Stoke. No thought of the difference in the stations of the girl and her boy entered her mind. To her Miriam was fit for a king. She only wanted to know that Jack loved the little Arab wife. The look in his eyes answered the question in her heart, and she threw her arms about them both and kissed them each a dozen times. "'Now,' she cried, I shall really have a daughter.' It was several weary marches to the nearest mission, but they only waited at the farm a few days for rest and preparation for the great event before setting out upon the journey. And after the marriage ceremony had been performed, they kept on to the coast to take passage for England. Those days were the most wonderful of Miriam's life. She had not dreamed even vaguely of the marvels that civilization held in store for her. The great ocean and the commodious steamship filled her with awe. The noise and bustle and confusion of the English railway station frightened her. If there was a good-sized tree at hand, she confided to Korak, I know that I should run to the very top of it in terror of my life. And make faces and throw twigs at the engine, he laughed back. "'Poor old Numa,' sighed the girl, what will he do without us?' "'Oh, there are others to tease him, my little mangani,' assured Korak. The Grey Stoke townhouse quite took Miriam's breath away, but when strangers were about, none might guess that she had not been to the manor born. They had been home but a week when Lord Grey Stoke received a message from his friend of many years, Darnol. It was in the form of a letter of introduction brought by one general Armand Jacob. Lord Grey Stoke recalled the name, as who familiar with modern French history would not, for Jacob was in reality the Prince de Cadranay, that intense Republican who refused to use, even by courtesy, a title that had belonged to his family for four hundred years. There is no place for princes in a republic, he was wont to say. Lord Grey Stoke received the hawk-nosed Grey Mustache soldier in his library, and after a dozen words the two men had formed a mutual esteem that was to endure through life. "'I have come to you,' explained General Jacob, "'because our dear Admiral tells me that there is no one in all the world who is more intimately acquainted with Central Africa than you. Let me tell you my story from the beginning. Many years ago my little daughter was stolen, presumably by Arabs, while I was serving with the foreign legion in Algeria. We did all that love and money and even government resources could do to discover her, but all to no avail. Her picture was published in the leading papers of every large city in the world, yet never did we find a man or woman who ever had seen her since the day she mysteriously disappeared. A week since there came to me in Paris a swarthy Arab who called himself Abdul Kamak. He said that he had found my daughter and could lead me to her. I took him at once to Admiral Darno, whom I knew had traveled some in Central Africa. The man's story led the Admiral to believe that the place where the white girl, the Arab supposed to be my daughter, was held in captivity was not far from your African estates, and he advised that I come at once and call upon you, that you would know if such a girl were in your neighborhood. What proof did the Arab bring that she was your daughter, asked Lord Graystoke? None, replied the other, that is why we thought best to consult you before organizing an expedition. The fellow had only an old photograph of her on the back of which was pasted a newspaper cutting, describing her and offering a reward. We feared that having found this somewhere it had aroused his cupidity and led him to believe that in some way he could obtain the reward, possibly by foisting upon us a white girl on the chance that so many years had elapsed that we would not be able to recognize an imposter as such. Have you the photograph with you? asked Lord Graystoke. The general drew an envelope from his pocket, took a yellowed photograph from it, and handed it to the Englishman. Tears dimmed the old warrior's eyes as they fell again upon the pictured features of his lost daughter. Lord Graystoke examined the photograph for a moment. A queer expression entered his eyes. He touched a bell at his elbow and an instant later a footman entered. Asked my son's wife if she will be so good as to come to the library, he directed. The two men sat in silence. General Jacob was too well-bred to show in any way the chagrin and disappointment he felt in the summery manner in which Lord Graystoke had dismissed the subject of his call. As soon as the young lady had come and he had been presented, he would make his departure. A moment later Miriam entered. Lord Graystoke and General Jacob rose and faced her. The Englishman spoke no word of introduction. He wanted to mark the effect of the first sight of the girl's face on the Frenchman, for he had a theory, a heaven-born theory, that had leaped into his mind the moment his eyes rested on the baby face of Jean Jacob. General Jacob took one look at Miriam, then he turned toward Lord Graystoke. How long have you known it? he asked, a trifle accusingly. Since you showed me the photograph a moment ago, replied the Englishman. It is she, said Jacob, shaking with suppressed emotion, but she does not recognize me. Of course she could not. Then he turned to Miriam. My child, he said, I am your, but she interrupted him with a quick glad cry as she ran toward him without stretched arms. I know you, I know you, she cried. Oh, now I remember, and the old man folded her in his arms. Jack Clayton and his mother were summoned, and when the story had been told them, they were only glad that Little Miriam had found a father and a mother. And really, you didn't marry an A-Rab wave after all, said Miriam. Isn't it fine? You are fine, replied the killer. I married my Little Miriam, and I don't care for my part whether she is an A-Rab or just a little tarmin-ganny. She is neither, my son, said General Armand Jacob. She is a princess in her own right. End of Chapter 27. End of Son of Tarzan by Edgar Rice Burroughs. Recording by Ralph Snelson, Springville, U.T.