The Son of Tarzan

By Edgar Rice Burroughs

Page 224

to believe that in some way he
could obtain the reward, possibly by foisting upon us a white girl on
the chance that so many years had elapsed that we would not be able to
recognize an imposter as such."

"Have you the photograph with you?" asked Lord Greystoke.

The General drew an envelope from his pocket, took a yellowed
photograph from it and handed it to the Englishman.

Tears dimmed the old warrior's eyes as they fell again upon the
pictured features of his lost daughter.

Lord Greystoke examined the photograph for a moment. A queer
expression entered his eyes. He touched a bell at his elbow, and an
instant later a footman entered.

"Ask my son's wife if she will be so good as to come to the library,"
he directed.

The two men sat in silence. General Jacot was too well bred to show in
any way the chagrin and disappointment he felt in the summary manner in
which Lord Greystoke had dismissed the subject of his call. As soon as
the young lady had come and he had been presented he would make his
departure. A moment later Meriem entered.

Lord Greystoke and General Jacot rose and faced her. The Englishman
spoke no word of introduction--he wanted to mark the effect of the
first sight of the girl's face on the Frenchman, for he had a theory--a
heaven-born theory that had leaped into his mind the moment his eyes
had rested on the baby face of Jeanne Jacot.

General Jacot took one look at Meriem, then he turned toward Lord
Greystoke.

"How long have you known it?" he asked, a trifle accusingly.

"Since you showed me that photograph a moment ago," replied the
Englishman.

"It is she," said Jacot, shaking with suppressed emotion; "but she does
not recognize me--of course she could not." Then he turned to Meriem.
"My child," he said, "I am your--"

But she interrupted him with a quick, glad cry, as she ran toward him
with outstretched arms.

"I know you! I know you!" she cried. "Oh, now I remember," and the
old man folded her in his arms.

Jack Clayton and his mother were summoned, and when the story had been
told them they were only glad that little Meriem had found a father and
a mother.

"And really you didn't marry an Arab waif after all," said Meriem.
"Isn't it fine!"

"You are fine," replied The Killer. "I married my little Meriem, and I
don't care, for my part, whether she is an Arab, or just a little
Tarmangani."

"She is neither, my son,"

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