ngs, 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 writing--after
a fashion--never 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 matter--as 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