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.”