“Yes. She was a great, fine ape, larger than I, and weighing twice as much.”
“And your father?” asked D’Arnot.
“I did not know him. Kala told me he was a white ape, and hairless like myself. I know now that he must have been a white man.”
D’Arnot looked long and earnestly at his companion.
“Tarzan,” he said at length, “it is impossible that the ape, Kala, was your mother. If such a thing can be, which I doubt, you would have inherited some of the characteristics of the ape, but you have not—you are pure man, and, I should say, the offspring of highly bred and intelligent parents. Have you not the slightest clue to your past?”
“Not the slightest,” replied Tarzan.
“No writings in the cabin that might have told something of the lives of its original inmates?”
“I have read everything that was in the cabin with the exception of one book which I know now to be written in a language other than English. Possibly you can read it.”
Tarzan fished the little black diary from the bottom of his quiver, and handed it to his companion.
D’Arnot glanced at the title page.