Isabelle stood beside her as she began to prepare for the night. She wished she would go away. The burden of loneliness grew every moment more intolerable. Suddenly she turned towards her cousin and cried in desperation,—
"Can you tell me where I shall find Jesus Christ?"
Isabelle started. "My goodness, Evadne, what a strange question! You took my breath away."
"Is it a strange question?" she asked wistfully. "Everyone seems to think so, and yet—my father said I was to make it the business of my life to find him."
"Your father!" cried Isabelle. "Why Uncle Lenox was an——"
Instantly a pair of small hands were held like a vice against her lips.
Isabelle threw them off angrily.
"You are polite, I must say! Is this a specimen of West Indian manners?"
"You were going to say something I could not hear," said Evadne quietly, "there was nothing else to do."
Isabelle left the room, and, returning, threw a book carelessly upon the table. "You had better study that," she said. "It will answer your questions better than I can."
"I told you she was a heathen!" she exclaimed, as she rejoined her mother in the sitting-room; "but I did not know that I should have to turn missionary the first night and give her a Bible!"