are welcome to our effects in England, if the Court of Probate

will allow them to take them {Endnote 22}, inasmuchas we have
made up our minds never to return to Europe. Indeed, it would

be impossible for us to leave Zu-Vendis even if we wished to do so.
The messenger who is to go -- and I wish him joy of his journey

-- is Alphonse. For a long while he has been wearied to death
of Zu-Vendis and its inhabitants. 'Oh, oui, c'est beau,' he

says, with an expressive shrug; 'mais je m'ennuie; ce n'est pas
chic.' Again, he complains dreadfully of the absence of cafes

and theatres, and moans continually for his lost Annette, of
whom he says he dreams three times a week. But I fancy his secret

cause of disgust at the country, putting aside the homesickness
to which ever Frenchman is subject, is that the people here laugh

at him so dreadfully about his conduct on the occasion of the
great battle of the Pass about eighteen months ago, when he hid

beneath a banner in Sorais's tent in order to avoid being sent
forth to fight, which he says would have gone against his conscience.

Even the little boys call out at him in the streets, thereby
offending his pride and making his life unbearable. At any rate,

he has determined to brave the horrors of a journey of almost
unprecedented difficulty and danger, and also to run the risk

of falling into the hands of the French police to answer for
a certain little indiscretion of his own some years old (though

I do not consider that a very serious matter), rather than remain
in ce triste pays. Poor Alphonse! we shall be very sorry to

part with him; but I sincerely trust, for his own sake and also
for the sake of this history, which is, I think, worth giving

to the world, that he may arrive in safety. If he does, and
can carry the treasure we have provided him with in the shape

of bars of solid gold, he will be, comparatively" target="_blank" title="ad.比较地；比较上">comparativelyspeaking, a
rich man for life, and well able to marry his Annette, if she

is still in the land of the living and willing to marry her Alphonse.
Anyhow, on the chance, I may as well add a word or two to

dear old Quatermain's narrative.
He died at dawn on the day following that on which he wrote the

last words of the last chapter. Nyleptha, Good and myself were
present, and a most touching and yet in its way beautiful scene

it was. An hour before the daybreak it became apparent to us
that he was sinking, and our distress was very keen. Indeed,

Good melted into tears at the idea -- a fact that called forth
a last gentle flicker of humour from our dying friend, for even

at that hour he could be humorous. Good's emotion had, by loosening
the muscles, naturally caused his eyeglass to fall from its accustomed

place, and Quatermain, who always observed everything, observed
this also.

'At last,' he gasped, with an attempt at a smile, 'I have seen
Good without his eyeglass.'

After that he said no more till the day broke, when he asked
to be lifted up to watch the rising of the sun for the last time.

'In a very few minutes,' he said, after gazing earnestly at it,
'I shall have passed through those golden gates.'

Ten minutes afterwards he raised himself and looked us fixedly
in the face.

'I am going a stranger journey than any we have ever taken together.
Think of me sometimes,' he murmured. 'God bless you all.

I shall wait for you.' And with a sigh he fell back dead.
And so passed away a character that I consider went as near perfection

as any it has ever been my lot to encounter.
Tender, constant, humorous, and possessing of many of the qualities

that go to make a poet, he was yet almost unrivalled as a man
of action and a citizen of the world. I never knew any one so

competent to form an accurate judgment of men and their motives.
'I have studied human nature all my life,' he would say, 'and

I ought to know something about it,' and he certainly did.
He had but two faults -- one was his excessivemodesty, and the

other a slight tendency which he had to be jealous of anybody
on whom he concentrated his affections. As regards the first

of these points, anybody who reads what he has written will be
able to form his own opinion; but I will add one last instance of it.

As the reader will doubtless remember, it is a favourite trick
of his to talk of himself as a timid man, whereas really, thought

very cautious, he possessed a most intrepid spirit, and, what
is more, never lost his head. Well, in the great battle of the

Pass, where he got the wound that finally killed him, one would
imagine from the account which he gives of the occurrence that

it was a chance blow that fell on him in the scrimmage. As a
matter of fact, however, he was wounded in a most gallant and

successful attempt to save Good's life, at the risk and, as it
ultimately turned out, at the cost of his own. Good was down

on the ground, and one of Nasta's highlanders was about to dispatch
him, when Quatermain threw himself on to his prostrate form and

received the blow on his own body, and then, rising, killed the
soldier.

As regards his jealousy, a single instance which I give in justice
to myself and Nyleptha will suffice. The reader will, perhaps,

recollect that in one or two places he speaks as though Nyleptha
monopolized me, and he was left by both of us rather out in the

cold. Now Nyleptha is not perfect, any more than any other woman
is, and she may be a little exigeante at times, but as regards

Quatermain the whole thing is pure imagination. Thus when he
complains about my not coming to see him when he is ill, the

fact was that, in spite of my entreaties, the doctors positively
forbade it. Those little remarks of his pained me very much

when I read them, for I loved Quatermain as dearly as though
he were my own father, and should never have dreamed of allowing

my marriage to interfere with that affection. But let it pass;
it is, after all, but one little weakness, which makes no great

show among so many and such lovable virtues.
Well, he died, and Good read the Burial Service over him in the

presence of Nyleptha and myself; and then his remains were, in
deference to the popular clamour, accorded a great public funeral,

or rather cremation. I could not help thinking, however, as
I marched in that long and splendid procession up to the Temple,

how he would have hated the whole thing could he have been there
to see it, for he had a horror of ostentation.

And so, a few minutes before sunset, on the third night after
his death, they laid him on the brazen flooring before the altar,

and waited for the last ray of the setting sun to fall upon his
face. Presently it came, and struck him like a golden arrow,

crowning the pale brows with glory, and then the trumpets blew,
and the flooring revolved, and all that remained of our beloved

friend fell into the furnace below.
We shall never see his like again if we live a hundred years.

He was the ablest man, the truest gentleman, the firmest friend,
the finest sportsman, and, I believe, the best shot in all Africa.

And so ended the very remarkable and adventurous life of
Hunter Quatermain.

Since then things have gone very well with us. Good has been,
and still is, busily employed in the construction of a navy on

Lake Milosis and another of the large lakes, by means of which
we hope to be able to increase trade and commerce, and also to

overcome some very troublesome and warlike sections of the population
who live upon their borders. Poor fellow! he is beginning to

get over the sad death of that misguided but most attractive
woman, Sorais, but it is a sad blow to him, for he was really

deeply attached to her. I hope, however, that he will in time
make a suitable marriage and get that unhappy business out of

his head. Nyleptha has one or two young ladies in view, especially
a daughter of Nasta's (who was a widower), a very fine imperial-looking

girl, but with too much of her father's intriguing, and yet haughty,
spirit to suit my taste.

As for myself, I should scarcely know where to begin if I set
to work to describe my doings, so I had best leave them undescribed,