I wondered how long he intended to stay at St. Thomas. He acted quite as if he had been naturalized there. Well, we should certainly see the last of him on February 6th, when the "Pretoria" would arrive and bear us away. Wesson stayed to dinner, though I don't know that any one invited him--probably he found the item in his bill. But he went early to town, which was better than nothing. That evening something strange happened. I was looking over a small stock of books that Eggert kept in a case. There was not much choice, for the subjects were mostly dry ones, though I don't know as he will thank me for saying so. I happened to light on the only modern work in the lot, after a long hunt, and brought it to the lamp. It was entitled "Our Rival, the Rascal," if I do not mistake, and was made up of letter-press and illustrations relating to prominent criminals of the day, the work of some heads of a police department, I believe. On the principle of any port in a storm it was worth spending a half hour over. I asked Eggert where he got it and he said it had been given him by a quarantined American not many months before. He looked over my shoulder for awhile as I turned the leaves, and commented openly on the villainy in the great world outside his quarantine fence and little lighthouse, with an air of simplicity that was charming. There were the lineaments of bank robbers, murderers, sneak thieves, shoplifters, etc., by the score, evidently photographed in some cases against their will, with a sketch of the career that entitled each to this dizzy seat of fame. Once in awhile I recognized a name, that had appeared in the newspapers, but the majority were rascals with whom I was wholly unfamiliar. Marjorie was working with a needle at the other end of the room, talking in a low tone with Mrs. Eggert. It occurred to me presently that the book might interest her, and I asked her to come to me. Mrs. Eggert went to see about some household duty and Miss May and I were left quite alone. "Are you interested in criminology?" I asked my companion, as she took the chair by my side. "If you are, here is entertainment for you." She stared at me vacantly, and when I turned one of the pages to her she caught at her throat as if choking. "Oh, this is awful!" she gurgled. "How could you show a thing like that to me?" "My darling," I protested, soothingly, "I did not know you would feel that way. This is a book that Eggert has just lent me and I thought it might interest you." "It is horrible!" she said, going to the open door as if for air. "The one glance I took was quite enough. What good can it do to print the faces of those unhappy people? It seems like catching a rat in a trap and bringing it out for dogs to tear." She shut her eyes and stood there, still panting. What a nervous organism she had, to be sure!