With the fickleness of October weather (which is often as freakish as that of April), the golden afternoon had turned cloudy and raw before the girls returned home. By nightfall it was raining, and a rising, gusty wind had ruffled the ocean into lumpy, foam-crested waves. At seven o’clock the wind had increased to a heavy gale and was steadily growing stronger. The threatened storm, as usual, filled Miss Marcia with nervous forebodings, and even Leslie experienced some uncomfortable apprehensions during their supper hour.

At eight o’clock, Phyllis arrived, escorted by Ted. “My!” she exclaimed, shaking the raindrops from her clothes as she stood on the porch, “but this is going to be a night! Father says the papers have warnings that we should probably get the tail-end of a West Indian hurricane that was headed this way, and I guess it has come! It’s getting worse every minute. Have you seen how the tide is rising? Get on your things and come down to the beach. Ted brought me, because I could hardly stand up against the wind. He’s going back presently. Come and see how the water is rising!”

“Oh, hush!” implored Leslie, glancing nervously toward her aunt. “You’ve no idea how upset Aunt Marcia is already,” she whispered. “She’ll be distracted if she gets an idea there’s any danger.”

“Forgive me!” returned Phyllis, contritely. “I really didn’t think, for a moment. Father says there probably isn’t any real danger. The tide has almost never risen as far as these bungalows, except in winter; and if the worst comes to the worst, we can always get out of them and walk away. But this threatens to be the worst storm of the kind we’ve had in years. Are you coming down to see the water?”

“If Aunt Marcia doesn’t mind. But if she’s afraid to be left alone, I won’t.”

“Oh, Ted will be here, and we’ll just run down for a minute or two. It’s really a great sight!”

Ted very thoughtfully offered to stay, and the two girls, wrapped to the eyes, pushed through the blinding rain and wind down to where the breakers were pounding their way up the beach, spreading, when they broke, farther and farther inland. So terrific was the impact of the wind, that the girls had to turn their backs to it when they wanted to speak.

“I brought you out here, as much as anything, because I had something to say,” shouted Phyllis, her voice scarcely audible to the girl close beside her. “If the tide keeps on like this, it will probably wash away what we’ve hidden by the old log. And probably others who are concerned with that may be thinking of the same thing. We’ve got to keep a close watch. I believe things are going to happen to-night!”

“But don’t you think we’d better dig it up ourselves, right away?” suggested Leslie. “We can’t very well go out to do it later when it may be necessary, and surely you want to save it.”

“Certainly not!” declared Phyllis. “I don’t care if it is washed away. What I want is the fun of seeing the other parties breaking their necks to rescue it. If it’s washed away they’ll think the real article has disappeared, and then we’ll see what next! Let’s take one more look at the surf and then go back.”

They peered out for a moment into the awe-inspiring blackness where an angry ocean was eating into the beach. Then, battling back against the wind, they returned to the house. Ted, having ascertained that there was no further service he could render, suggested that he had better go back and help his father stop a leak in the roof of Fisherman’s Luck, which had suddenly proved unseaworthy.

“I’m so glad Phyllis will be with us to-night,” Miss Marcia told him, “for I’m very little company for Leslie at a time like this. I get so nervous that I have to take a sedative the doctor has given me for emergencies, and that generally puts me pretty soundly to sleep.”

They sat about the open fire after Ted had gone, listening to the commotion of the elements outside and talking fitfully. Every few moments Miss Marcia would rise, go to the window, and peer out nervously into the darkness. Once the telephone-bell rang and every one jumped. Leslie hurried to answer it.

“Oh, it’s Aunt Sally Blake!” she exclaimed. “She wants to know how we all are and if we happen to have seen anything of Eileen. She was at the hospital all the afternoon, but she hasn’t returned. Aunt Sally ’phoned the hospital, but they said Miss Ramsay had left three hours ago. She’s terribly worried about her—thinks she may have had an accident in this storm. She thought it just possible Eileen might have come on out here. I said no, but would call her up later and see if she’d had news.”

This latest turn of affairs added in no wise to Miss Marcia’s peace of mind. “Why don’t you take your powder now, Aunt Marcia, and go to bed,” Leslie suggested at last. “It’s only worrying you to sit up and watch this. There’s no danger, and you might as well go peacefully to sleep and forget it. Phyllis and I will stay up quite a while yet, and if there’s any reason for it, we will wake you.”

Miss Marcia herself thought well of the plan and was soon in bed, and, having taken her sleeping-powder, the good lady was shortly fast and dreamlessly asleep, much to the relief of the girls.

“And now let’s go into your room and watch,” whispered Phyllis. “I’m just as certain as I can be that something is going to happen to-night!”

They arranged themselves, each at a window, Phyllis at the one toward the sea; Leslie facing Curlew’s Nest, and began an exciting vigil. With the electric light switched off, it was so black, both inside and out, that it would have been difficult to distinguish anything, but with the windows shut and encrusted with wind-blown sand, it was utterly impossible. And when they dared to open them even a crack, the rain poured in and drenched them. They could do this only at intervals. Even Rags seemed to share the general uneasiness, and could find no comfortable spot in which to dispose himself, but kept hovering between the two windows continually.

It was Leslie who suddenly spoke in a hushed whisper. She had just opened her window the merest crack and peeped out, then closed it again without sound. “Phyllis, come here a moment. Look out when I open the window. It struck me that I saw something—some dark shape—slip around the corner of the house next door. See if you can see it.”

Phyllis applied her eye to the crack when the window was opened. Then she drew her head back with a jerk. “I certainly did see something!” she whispered excitedly. “It slipped back to the other side of the bungalow!” She peered out again. “Good gracious! I see it again—or else it’s another one. Doesn’t seem quite like the first figure. Can there possibly be two?”

Leslie then, becoming impatient, demanded a turn at the peep-hole, and while she was straining her gaze into the darkness, they were both electrified by a light, timid knock at the door of the front veranda.

“Who can that be?” cried Leslie, wide-eyed and trembling.

“Perhaps it’s Ted come back,” ventured Phyllis. “At any rate, I suppose we’ll have to go and see!”

Rags, alert also, uttered a low growl, and Leslie silenced him anxiously. “If this arouses Aunt Marcia,”—she whispered, “I shall be awfully worried. Be quiet, Rags!”

They tiptoed into the living-room, switched on the light, and advanced to the door. Again the knock came, light but insistent; and without further hesitation, Leslie threw the door open.

A muffled, dripping figure inquired timidly, “Please may I come in? I’m dripping wet and chilled to the bone.”

“Why, Eileen!” cried Leslie, “what are you doing here in this terrible storm?”

“I got lost on the way back from the hospital,” half sobbed the new-comer, “and I must have motored round and round in the rain and dark. And at last something went wrong with the engine, and I got out and left the car on the road—and I walked and walked—trying to find some place to stay—and at last I found I was right near here—so I came in!” She seemed exhausted and half hysterical and Leslie could not but believe her.

“Well, I’m so glad you’re found and here!” she cried. “I must call up Aunt Sally right away and tell her you’re all right. She called a while ago and was so anxious about you.”

Leslie went to the telephone, while Phyllis helped Eileen to rid herself of her wet clothes and get into something dry. Then they all sat down by the fire in an uneasy silence. Presently Phyllis suggested that Eileen might like something warm to eat and drink, as she had evidently had no dinner. She assented to this eagerly, and the two girls went to the kitchen to provide something for her.

“I tell you,” whispered Phyllis, “I just can’t believe that hospital and getting-lost stuff! She came out here for some purpose, you mark my word! But why she wants to get in here is beyond me just yet. I’ll find out later, though, you see if I don’t!”

When they entered the living-room with a dainty tray a few minutes later, they found Eileen standing by one of the windows facing the ocean, trying vainly to peer into the outer blackness. She started guiltily when she saw them and retreated to the fire, murmuring something about “the awful night.” But though she had seemed so eager for food, she ate almost nothing.

“Can’t you take a little of this hot soup?” urged Leslie. “It will do you so much good. You must be very hungry by now.”

“Oh, thanks, so much!” Eileen replied, with a grateful glance. “You are very good to me. I did really think I was hungry, at first, but I’m so nervous I just can’t eat!”

She pushed the tray aside and began to roam restlessly about the room. At every decent excuse, such as an extra heavy gust of wind or a flapping of the shutters, she would hurry to the window and try to peer out.

At length Phyllis made an excuse to disappear into Leslie’s room and was gone quite a time. Suddenly she put her head out of the door into the living-room and remarked, in a voice full of suppressed excitement: “Leslie, can you come here a moment?”

Leslie excused herself and ran to join Phyllis. “What is it?” she whispered breathlessly.

“Look out of the front window!” returned Phyllis, in a hushed undertone. “There’s something queer going on outside—by the old log!”

Leslie opened the window a crack. The howl of the storm and the lash of rain was appalling, and it was two or three minutes before she could accustom her sight to the outer blackness. But when she did manage to distinguish something, she was startled to observe not only one, but two dark figures circling slowly round and round the log, like two animals after the same prey, and watching each other cautiously.

“But that’s not all!” muttered Phyllis, behind her. “There’s a third figure standing in the shadow right by Curlew’s Nest. I saw him out of the side window. What on earth can it all mean?”

So absorbed were they that neither of them noticed the form that slipped into the room behind them and stood peering over their shoulders. But they were suddenly startled beyond words to hear Eileen, close behind them, catch her breath with an indrawn hiss, and mutter involuntarily:

“Oh, Ted!—Be careful!—Look out!—Look out!—”