so　moved。　　I　print　it　practically　as　it　left　his　hands。
  There　are　other　MSS。　also；　one　of　which；　headed　〃Child　of　Storm；〃
  relates　the　moving　history　of　a　beautiful　and；　I　fear　I　must　add；　wicked
  Zulu　girl　named　Mameena　who　did　much　evil　in　her　day　and　went
  unrepentant　from　the　world。
  Another；　amongst　other　things；　tells　the　secret　story　of　the　causes　of
  the　defeat　of　Cetewayo　and　his　armies　by　the　English　in　1879；　which
  happened　not　long　before　Quatermain　met　Sir　Henry　Curtis　and　Captain
  Good。
  These　three　narratives　are；　indeed；　more　or　less　connected　with　each
  other。　　At　least；　a　certain　aged　dwarf；　called　Zikali；　a　witch…doctor
  and　an　terrible　man；　has　to　do　with　all　of　them；　although　in　the　first；
  〃Marie；〃　he　is　only　vaguely　mentioned　in　connection　with　the　massacre　of
  Retief；　whereof　he　was　doubtless　the　primary　instigator。　　As　〃Marie〃
  comes　first　in　chronological　order；　and　was　placed　on　the　top　of　the
  pile　by　its　author；　I　publish　it　first。　　With　the　others　I　hope　to　deal
  later　on；　as　I　may　find　time　and　opportunity。
  But　the　future　must　take　care　of　itself。　　We　cannot　control　it；　and　its
  events　are　not　in　our　hand。　　Meanwhile；　I　hope　that　those　who　in　their
  youth　have　read　of　King　Solomon's　Mines　and　Zuvendis；　and　perhaps　some
  others　who　are　younger；　may　find　as　much　of　interest　in　these　new
  chapters　of　the　autobiography　of　Allan　Quatermain　as　I　have　done　myself。
  CONTENTS
  I。　ALLAN　LEARNS　FRENCH
  II。　THE　ATTACK　ON　MARAISFONTEIN
  III。　THE　RESCUE
  IV。　HERNANDO　PEREIRA
  V。　THE　SHOOTING　MATCH
  VI。　THE　PARTING
  VII。　ALLAN'S　CALL
  VIII。　THE　CAMP　OF　DEATH
  IX。　THE　PROMISE
  X。　VROUW　PRINSLOO　SPEAKS　HER　MIND
  XI。　THE　SHOT　IN　THE　KLOOF
  XII。　DINGAAN'S　BET
  XIII。　THE　REHEARSAL
  XIV。　THE　PLAY
  XV。　RETIEF　ASKS　A　FAVOUR
  XVI。　THE　COUNCIL
  XVII。　THE　MARRIAGE
  XVIII。　THE　TREATY
  XIX。　DEPART　IN　PEACE
  XX。　THE　COURT…MARTIAL
  XXI。　THE　INNOCENT　BLOOD
  CHAPTER　I
  ALLAN　LEARNS　FRENCH
  Although　in　my　old　age　I；　Allan　Quatermain；　have　taken　to　writingafter
  a　fashionnever　yet　have　I　set　down　a　single　word　of　the　tale　of　my
  first　love　and　of　the　adventures　that　are　grouped　around　her　beautiful
  and　tragic　history。　　I　suppose　this　is　because　it　has　always　seemed　to
  me　too　holy　and　far…off　a　matteras　holy　and　far…off　as　is　that　heaven
  which　holds　the　splendid　spirit　of　Marie　Marais。　　But　now；　in　my　age；
  that　which　was　far…off　draws　near　again；　and　at　night；　in　the　depths
  between　the　stars；　sometimes　I　seem　to　see　the　opening　doors　through
  which　I　must　pass；　and　leaning　earthwards　across　their　threshold；　with
  outstretched　arms　and　dark　and　dewy　eyes；　a　shadow　long　forgotten　by　all
  save　methe　shadow　of　Marie　Marais。
  An　old　man's　dream；　doubtless；　no　more。　　Still；　I　will　try　to　set　down
  that　history　which　ended　in　so　great　a　sacrifice；　and　one　so　worthy　of
  record；　though　I　hope　that　no　human　eye　will　read　it　until　I　also　am
  forgotten；　or；　at　any　rate；　have　grown　dim　in　the　gathering　mists　of
  oblivion。　　And　I　am　glad　that　I　have　waited　to　make　this　attempt；　for　it
  seems　to　me　that　only　of　late　have　I　come　to　understand　and　appreciate
  at　its　true　value　the　character　of　her　of　whom　I　tell；　and　the
  passionate　affection　which　was　her　bounteous　offering　to　one　so　utterly
  unworthy　as　myself。　　What　have　I　done；　I　wonder；　that　to　me　should　have
  been　decreed　the　love　of　two　such　women　as　Marie　and　that　of　Stella；
  also　now　long　dead；　to　whom　alone　in　the　world　I　told　all　her　tale？　　I
  remember　I　feared　lest　she　should　take　it　ill；　but　this　was　not　so。
  Indeed；　during　our　brief　married　days；　she　thought　and　talked　much　of
  Marie；　and　some　of　her　last　words　to　me　were　that　she　was　going　to　seek
  her；　and　that　they　would　wait　for　me　together　in　the　land　of　love；　pure
  and　immortal。
  So　with　Stella's　death　all　that　side　of　life　came　to　an　end　for　me；
  since　during　the　long　years　which　stretch　between　then　and　now　I　have
  never　said　another　tender　word　to　woman。　　I　admit；　however；　that　once；
  long　afterwards；　a　certain　little　witch　of　a　Zulu　did　say　tender　words
  to　me；　and　for　an　hour　or　so　almost　turned　my　head；　an　art　in　which　she
  had　great　skill。　　This　I　say　because　I　wish　to　be　quite　honest；　although
  itI　mean　my　head；　for　there　was　no　heart　involved　in　the　mattercame
  straight　again　at　once。　　Her　name　was　Mameena；　and　I　have　set　down　her
  remarkable　story　elsewhere。
  To　return。　　As　I　have　already　written　in　another　book；　I　passed　my　youth
  with　my　old　father；　a　Church　of　England　clergyman；　in　what　is　now　the
  Cradock　district　of　the　Cape　Colony。
  Then　it　was　a　wild　place　enough；　with　a　very　small　white　population。
  Among　our　few　neighbours　was　a　Boer　farmer　of　the　name　of　Henri　Marais；
  who　lived　about　fifteen　miles　from　our　station；　on　a　fine　farm　called
  Maraisfontein。　　I　say　he　was　a　Boer；　but；　as　may　be　guessed　from　both
  his　Christian　and　surname；　his　origin　was　Huguenot；　his　forefather；　who
  was　also　named　Henri　Maraisthough　I　think　the　Marais　was　spelt　rather
  differently　thenhaving　been　one　of　the　first　of　that　faith　who
  emigrated　to　South　Africa　to　escape　the　cruelties　of　Louis　XIV。　at　the
  time　of　the　revocation　of　the　Edict　of　Nantes。
  Unlike　most　Boers　of　similar　descent；　these　particular　Maraisfor；　of
  course；　there　are　many　other　families　so　callednever　forgot　their
  origin。　　Indeed；　from　father　to　son；　they　kept　up　some　knowledge　of　the
  French　tongue；　and　among　themselves　often　spoke　it　after　a　fashion。　　At
  any　rate；　it　was　the　habit　of　Henri　Marais；　who　was　excessively
  religious；　to　read　his　chapter　of　the　Bible　（which　it　is；　or　was；　the
  custom　of　the　Boers　to　spell　out　every　morning；　should　their　learning
  allow　them　to　do　so）；　not　in　the　〃taal〃　or　patois　Dutch；　but　in　good　old
  French。　　I　have　the　very　book　from　which　he　used　to　read　now；　for；
  curiously　enough；　in　after　years；　when　all　these　events　had　long　been
  gathered　to　the　past；　I　chanced　to　buy　it　among　a　parcel　of　other　works
  at　the　weekly　auction　of　odds　and　ends　on　the　market　square　of
  Maritzburg。　　I　remember　that　when　I　opened　the　great　tome；　bound　over
  the　original　leather　boards　in　buckskin；　and　discovered　to　whom　it　had
  belonged；　I　burst　into　tears。　　There　was　no　doubt　about　it；　for；　as　was
  customary　in　old　days；　this　Bible　had　sundry　fly…leaves　sewn　up　with　it
  for　the　purpose　of　the　recording　of　events　important　to　its　owner。
  The　first　entries　were　made　by　the　original　Henri　Marais；　and　record　how
  he　and　his　compatriots　were　driven　from　France；　his　father　having　lost
  his　life　in　the　religious　persecutions。　　After　this　comes　a　long　list　of
  births；　marriages　and　deaths　continued　from　generation　to　generation；
  and　amongst　them　a　few　notes　telling　of　such　matters　as　the　change　of
  the　dwelling…places　of　the　family；　always　in　French。　　Towards　the　end　of
  the　list　appears　the　entry　of　the　birth　of　the　Henri　Marais　whom　I　knew；
  alas！　too　well；　and　of　his　only　sister。　　Then　is　written　his　marriage　to
  Marie　Labuschagne；　also；　be　it　noted；　of　the　Huguenot　stock。　　In　the
  next　year　follows　the　birth　of　Marie　Marais；　my　Marie；　and；　after　a　long
  interval；　for　no　other　children　were　born；　the　death　of　her　mother。
  Immediately　below　appears　the　following　curious　passage：
  〃Le　3　Janvier；　1836。　　Je　quitte　ce　pays　voulant　me　sauver　du　maudit
  gouvernement　Britannique　comme　mes　ancetres　se　sont　sauves　de　ce
  diableLouis　XIV。
  〃A　bas　les　rois　et　les　ministres　tyrannique！　　Vive　la　liberte！〃
  Which　indicates　very　clearly　the　character　and　the　opinions　of　Henri
  Marais；　and　the　feeling　among　the　trek…Boers　at　that　time。
  Thus　the　record　closes　and　the　story　of　the　Marais　endsthat　is；　so　far
  as　the　writings　in　the　Bible　go；　for　that　branch　of　the　family　is　now
  extinct。
  Their　last　chapter　I　will　tell　in　due　course。
  There　was　nothing　remarkable　about　my　introduction　to　Marie　Marais。　　I
  did　not　rescue　her　from　any　attack　of　a　wild　beast　or　pull　her　out　of　a
  raging　river　in　a　fashion　suited　to　romance。　　Indeed；　we　interchanged
  our　young　ideas　across　a　small　and　extremely　massive　table；　which；　in
  fact；　had　once　done　duty　as　a　block　for　the　chopping　up　of　meat。　　To
  this　hour　I　can　see　the　hundreds　of　lines　running　criss…cross　upon　its
  surface；　especially　those　opposite　to　where　I　used　to　sit。
  One　day；　several　years　after　my　father　had　emigrated　to　the　Cape；　the
  Heer　Marais　arrived　at　our　house　in　search；　I　think；　of　some　lost　oxen。
  He　was　a　thin；　bearded　man　with　rather　wild；　dark　eyes　set　close
  together；　and　a　quick　nervous　manner；　not　in　the　least　like　that　of　a
  Dutch　Boeror　so　I　recall　him。　　My　father　received　him　courteously　and
  asked　him　to　stop　to　dine；　which　he　did。
  They　talked　together　in　French；　a　tongue　that　my　father　knew　well；
  although　he　had　not　used　it　for　years；　Dutch　he　could　not；　or；　rather；
  would　not；　speak　if　he　could　help　it；　and　Mr。　Marais　preferred　not　to
  talk　English。　　To　meet　som