Tarzan of the Apes - Edgar Rice Burroughs (thriller book recommendations .txt) 📗

instead of English.

“Come,” he added, “jump into my car, we must overtake your father, they are only a little way ahead.”

As they drove along, he said:

“Then when you said in your note to Tarzan of the Apes that you loved another⁠—you might have meant me?”

“I might have,” she answered, simply.

“But in Baltimore⁠—oh, how I have searched for you⁠—they told me you would possibly be married by now. That a man named Canler had come up here to wed you. Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“Do you love him?”

“No.”

“Do you love me?”

She buried her face in her hands.

“I am promised to another. I cannot answer you, Tarzan of the Apes,” she cried.

“You have answered. Now, tell me why you would marry one you do not love.”

“My father owes him money.”

Suddenly there came back to Tarzan the memory of the letter he had read⁠—and the name Robert Canler and the hinted trouble which he had been unable to understand then.

He smiled.

“If your father had not lost the treasure you would not feel forced to keep your promise to this man Canler?”

“I could ask him to release me.”

“And if he refused?”

“I have given my promise.”

He was silent for a moment. The car was plunging along the uneven road at a reckless pace, for the fire showed threateningly at their right, and another change of the wind might sweep it on with raging fury across this one avenue of escape.

Finally they passed the danger point, and Tarzan reduced their speed.

“Suppose I should ask him?” ventured Tarzan.

“He would scarcely accede to the demand of a stranger,” said the girl. “Especially one who wanted me himself.”

“Terkoz did,” said Tarzan, grimly.

Jane shuddered and looked fearfully up at the giant figure beside her, for she knew that he meant the great anthropoid he had killed in her defense.

“This is not the African jungle,” she said. “You are no longer a savage beast. You are a gentleman, and gentlemen do not kill in cold blood.”

“I am still a wild beast at heart,” he said, in a low voice, as though to himself.

Again they were silent for a time.

“Jane,” said the man, at length, “if you were free, would you marry me?”

She did not reply at once, but he waited patiently.

The girl was trying to collect her thoughts.

What did she know of this strange creature at her side? What did he know of himself? Who was he? Who, his parents?

Why, his very name echoed his mysterious origin and his savage life.

He had no name. Could she be happy with this jungle waif? Could she find anything in common with a husband whose life had been spent in the tree tops of an African wilderness, frolicking and fighting with fierce anthropoids; tearing his food from the quivering flank of fresh-killed prey, sinking his strong teeth into raw flesh, and tearing away his portion while his mates growled and fought about him for their share?

Could he ever rise to her social sphere? Could she bear to think of sinking to his? Would either be happy in such a horrible misalliance?

“You do not answer,” he said. “Do you shrink from wounding me?”

“I do not know what answer to make,” said Jane sadly. “I do not know my own mind.”

“You do not love me, then?” he asked, in a level tone.

“Do not ask me. You will be happier without me. You were never meant for the formal restrictions and conventionalities of society⁠—civilization would become irksome to you, and in a little while you would long for the freedom of your old life⁠—a life to which I am as totally unfitted as you to mine.”

“I think I understand you,” he replied quietly. “I shall not urge you, for I would rather see you happy than to be happy myself. I see now that you could not be happy with⁠—an ape.”

There was just the faintest tinge of bitterness in his voice.

“Don’t,” she remonstrated. “Don’t say that. You do not understand.”

But before she could go on a sudden turn in the road brought them into the midst of a little hamlet.

Before them stood Clayton’s car surrounded by the party he had brought from the cottage.

XXVIII 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