“If you are not alive, my man,” she answered, “I pray that I may die thus before I awaken to the terrible realities of my last waking moments.”
For a while both were silent—gazing into each others’ eyes as though each still questioned the reality of the wonderful happiness that had come to them. The past, with all its hideous disappointments and horrors, was forgotten—the future did not belong to them; but the present—ah, it was theirs; none could take it from them. It was the girl who first broke the sweet silence.
“Where are we going, dear?” she asked. “What are we going to do?”
“Where would you like best to go?” he asked. “What would you like best to do?”
“To go where you go, my man; to do whatever seems best to you,” she answered.
“But Clayton?” he asked. For a moment he had forgotten that there existed upon the earth other than they two. “We have forgotten your husband.”
“I am not married, Tarzan of the Apes,” she cried. “Nor am I longer promised in marriage. The day before those awful creatures captured me I spoke to Mr. Clayton of my love for you, and he understood then that I could not keep the wicked promise that I had made. It was after we had been miraculously saved from an attacking lion.” She paused suddenly and looked up at him, a questioning light in her eyes. “Tarzan of the Apes,” she cried, “it was you who did that thing? It could have been no other.”
He dropped his eyes, for he was ashamed.
“How could you have gone away and left me?” she cried reproachfully.
“Don’t, Jane!” he pleaded. “Please don’t! You cannot know how I have suffered since for the cruelty of that act, or how I suffered then, first in jealous rage, and then in bitter resentment against the fate that I had not deserved. I went back to the apes after that, Jane, intending never again to see a human being.” He told her then of his life since he had returned to the jungle—of how he had dropped like a plummet from a civilized Parisian to a savage Waziri warrior, and from there back to the brute that he had been raised.