She had come to the conclusion that he spoke no other English, and so she ceased to importune him for information; but never did she forget to greet him pleasantly or to thank him for the hideous, nauseating meals he brought her. Three days from the spot where Tarzan had been marooned the Kincaid came to anchor in the mouth of a great river, and presently Rokoff came to Jane Clayton’s cabin. “We have arrived, my dear,” he said, with a sickening leer. “I have come to offer you safety, liberty, and ease. My heart has been softened toward you in your suffering, and I would make amends as best I may. “Your husband was a brute—you know that best who found him naked in his native jungle, roaming wild with the savage beasts that were his fellows. Now I am a gentleman, not only born of noble blood, but raised gently as befits a man of quality. “To you, dear Jane, I offer the love of a cultured man and association with one of culture and refinement, which you must have sorely missed in your relations with the poor ape that through your girlish infatuation you married so thoughtlessly. I love you, Jane. You have but to say the word and no further sorrows shall afflict you—even your baby shall be returned to you unharmed.” Outside the door Sven Anderssen paused with the noonday meal he had been carrying to Lady Greystoke. Upon the end of his long, stringy neck his little head was cocked to one side, his close-set eyes were half closed, his ears, so expressive was his whole attitude of stealthy eavesdropping, seemed truly to be cocked forward—even his long, yellow, straggly moustache appeared to assume a sly droop. As Rokoff closed his appeal, awaiting the reply he invited, the look of surprise upon Jane Clayton’s face turned to one of disgust. She fairly shuddered in the fellow’s face. “I would not have been surprised, M. Rokoff,” she said, “had you attempted to force me to submit to your evil desires, but that you should be so fatuous as to believe that I, wife of John Clayton, would come to you willingly, even to save my life, I should never have imagined. I have known you for a scoundrel, M. Rokoff; but until now I had not taken you for a fool.” Rokoff’s eyes narrowed, and the red of mortification flushed out the pallor of his face. He took a step toward the girl, threateningly. “We shall see who is the fool at last,” he hissed, “when I have broken you to my will and your plebeian Yankee stubbornness has cost you all that you hold dear—even the life of your baby—for, by the bones of St. Peter, I’ll forego all that I had planned for the brat and cut its heart out before your very eyes. You’ll learn what it means to insult Nikolas Rokoff.” Jane Clayton turned wearily away.