Possibly you can read it."
Tarzan fished the little black diary from the bottom of his
quiver, and handed it to his companion.
D'Arnot glanced at the title page.
"It is the diary of John Clayton, Lord Greystoke, an
English nobleman, and it is written in French," he said.
Then he proceeded to read the diary that had been written
over twenty years before, and which recorded the details of
the story which we already know--the story of adventure,
hardships and sorrow of John Clayton and his wife Alice,
from the day they left England until an hour before he was
struck down by Kerchak.
D'Arnot read aloud. At times his voice broke, and he was
forced to stop reading for the pitiful hopelessness that spoke
between the lines.
Occasionally he glanced at Tarzan; but the ape-man sat
upon his haunches, like a carven image, his eyes fixed upon
the ground.
Only when the little babe was mentioned did the tone of the
diary alter from the habitual note of despair which had crept
into it by degrees after the first two months upon the shore.
Then the passages were tinged with a subdued happiness
that was even sadder than the rest.
One entry showed an almost hopeful spirit.
To-day our little boy is six months old. He is sitting in
Alice's lap beside the table where I am writing--a happy,
healthy, perfect child.
Somehow, even against all reason, I seem to see him a
grown man, taking his father's place in the world--the
second John Clayton--and bringing added honors to the house
of Greystoke.
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