I found a note you wrote me lying among the leaves beneath a tree near the cabin. I do not know how you learned to love me, who have never spoken to me, and I am very sorry if it is true, for I have already given my heart to another.
Tarzan sat with gaze fixed upon the floor for nearly an hour. It was evident to him from the notes that they did not know that he and Tarzan of the Apes were one and the same.
“I have given my heart to another,” he repeated over and over again to himself.
Then she did not love him! How could she have pretended love, and raised him to such a pinnacle of hope only to cast him down to such utter depths of despair!
Maybe her kisses were only signs of friendship. How did he know, who knew nothing of the customs of human beings?
Suddenly he arose, and, bidding D’Arnot good night as he had learned to do, threw himself upon the couch of ferns that had been Jane Porter’s.
D’Arnot extinguished the lamp, and lay down upon the cot.
For a week they did little but rest, D’Arnot coaching Tarzan in French. At the end of that time the two men could converse quite easily.
One night, as they were sitting within the cabin before retiring, Tarzan turned to D’Arnot.
“Where is America?” he said.
D’Arnot pointed toward the northwest.
“Many thousands of miles across the ocean,” he replied. “Why?”
“I am going there.”
D’Arnot shook his head.
“It is impossible, my friend,” he said.
Tarzan rose, and, going to one of the cupboards, returned with a well-thumbed geography.
Turning to a map of the world, he said:
“I have never quite understood all this; explain it to me, please.”
When D’Arnot had done so, showing him that the blue represented all the water on the earth, and the bits of other colors the continents and islands, Tarzan asked him to point out the spot where they now were.
D’Arnot did so.
“Now point out America,” said Tarzan.
And as D’Arnot placed his finger upon North America, Tarzan smiled and laid his palm upon the page, spanning the great ocean that lay between the two continents.
“You see it is not so very far,” he said; “scarce the width of my hand.”
D’Arnot laughed. How could he make the man understand?
Then he took a pencil and made a tiny point upon the shore of Africa.
“This little mark,” he said, “is many times larger upon this map than your cabin is upon the earth. Do you see now how very far it is?”
Tarzan thought for a long time.
“Do any white men live in Africa?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Where are the nearest?”
D’Arnot pointed out a spot on the shore just north of them.
“So close?” asked Tarzan, in surprise.
“Yes,” said D’Arnot; “but it is not close.”
“Have they big boats to cross the ocean?”
“Yes.”
“We shall go there tomorrow,” announced Tarzan.
Again D’Arnot smiled and shook his head.
“It is too far. We should die long before we reached them.”
“Do you wish to stay here then forever?” asked Tarzan.
“No,” said D’Arnot.
“Then we shall start tomorrow. I do not like it here longer. I should rather die than remain here.”
“Well,” answered D’Arnot, with a shrug, “I do not know, my friend, but that I also would rather die than remain here. If you go, I shall go with you.”
“It is settled then,” said Tarzan. “I shall start for America tomorrow.”
“How will you get to America without money?” asked D’Arnot.
“What is money?” inquired Tarzan.
It took a long time to make him understand even imperfectly.
“How do men get money?” he asked at last.
“They work for it.”
“Very well. I will work for it, then.”
“No, my friend,” returned D’Arnot, “you need not worry about money, nor need you work for it. I have enough money for two—enough for twenty. Much more than is good for one man and you shall have all you need if ever we reach civilization.”
So on the following day they started north along the shore. Each man carrying a rifle and ammunition, beside bedding and some food and cooking utensils.
The latter seemed to Tarzan a most useless encumbrance, so he threw his away.
“But you must learn to eat cooked food, my friend,” remonstrated D’Arnot. “No civilized men eat raw flesh.”
“There will be time enough when I reach civilization,” said Tarzan. “I do not like the things and they only spoil the taste of good meat.”
For a month they traveled north. Sometimes finding food in plenty and again going hungry for days.
They saw no signs of natives nor were they molested by wild beasts. Their journey was a miracle of ease.
Tarzan asked questions and learned rapidly. D’Arnot taught him many of the refinements of civilization—even to the use of knife and fork; but sometimes Tarzan would drop them in disgust and grasp his food in his strong brown hands, tearing it with his molars like a wild beast.
Then D’Arnot would expostulate with him, saying:
“You must not eat like a brute, Tarzan, while I am trying to make a gentleman of you. Mon Dieu! Gentlemen do not thus—it is terrible.”
Tarzan would grin sheepishly and pick up his knife and fork again, but at heart he hated them.
On the journey he told D’Arnot about the great chest he had seen the sailors bury; of how he had dug it up and carried it to the gathering place of the apes and buried it there.
“It must be the treasure chest of Professor Porter,” said D’Arnot. “It is too bad, but of course you did not know.”
Then Tarzan recalled the letter written by Jane to her friend—the one he had stolen when they first came to his cabin, and now he knew what was in the chest and what it meant to Jane.
“Tomorrow we shall go back after it,” he announced to D’Arnot.
“Go back?” exclaimed D’Arnot. “But, my dear fellow, we have now been
