professor's daughter, is in strained and lifeless
conversation with William Cecil Clayton and Tarzan of the Apes. Within
the little waiting room, but a bare moment before, a confession of love
and a renunciation had taken place that had blighted the lives and
happiness of two of the party, but William Cecil Clayton, Lord
Greystoke, was not one of them.

Behind Miss Porter hovered the motherly Esmeralda. She, too, was
happy, for was she not returning to her beloved Maryland? Already she
could see dimly through the fog of smoke the murky headlight of the
oncoming engine. The men began to gather up the hand baggage.
Suddenly Clayton exclaimed.

"By Jove! I've left my ulster in the waiting-room," and hastened off
to fetch it.

"Good-bye, Jane," said Tarzan, extending his hand. "God bless you!"

"Good-bye," replied the girl faintly. "Try to forget me--no, not
that--I could not bear to think that you had forgotten me."

"There is no danger of that, dear," he answered. "I wish to Heaven
that I might forget. It would be so much easier than to go through
life always remembering what might have been. You will be happy,
though; I am sure you shall--you must be. You may tell the others of
my decision to drive my car on to New York--I don't feel equal to
bidding Clayton good-bye. I want always to remember him kindly, but I
fear that I am too much of a wild beast yet to be trusted too long with
the man who stands between me and the one person in all the world I
want."

As Clayton stooped to pick up his coat in the waiting room his eyes
fell on a telegraph blank lying face down upon the floor. He stooped
to pick it up, thinking it might be a message of importance which some
one had dropped. He glanced at it hastily, and then suddenly he forgot
his coat, the approaching train--everything but that terrible little
piece of yellow paper in his hand. He read it twice before he could
fully grasp the terrific weight of meaning that it bore to him.

When he had picked it up he had been an English nobleman, the proud and
wealthy possessor of vast estates--a moment later he had read it, and
he knew that he was an untitled and penniless beggar. It was D'Arnot's
cablegram to Tarzan, and it read:

Finger prints prove you Greystoke. Congratulations.
D'ARNOT.

He staggered as though he had received a mortal blow. Just then he
heard the others calling to him to hu