The girl, her cheeks rosy, her eyes glowing, laughed back at him over her shoulder, for she was already half way up the trail.
When Muriel reached the shelving rock in front of her cave she turned and waved to the old man, who stood watching far below, then stooping, she disappeared.
To her amazement, she found that the place was flooded with light. The reason she quickly discerned. Great rocks, hurled from the falling tower, had crashed through the roof of the cave and were piled high on its floor. Eagerly the girl began to search among them for the box.
When fifteen minutes had passed and she did not reappear, the old captain became anxious and climbed to the opening.
“Wall, I’ll be gigger-switched!” he exclaimed, “if here ain’t the door to the closet whar the tools for the big lamp was kept.”
Muriel, with a delighted cry, sprang toward him, but stumbled over some small hard object which had been almost imbedded in crumbled sandstone.
It was the long-sought little iron box, but it was locked.
The old man was as excited as the girl. He took the small box which Muriel lifted toward him and examined it. “The lock don’t matter,” he replied. “Thar’s tools in the cabin that’ll open it soon enough. Come now, ’twon’t do to be delayin’ any longer. Can’t ye hear the threatenin’ sound the wind is makin’? It’s moanin’ into the cave here like a graveyard full of ghosts let loose.”
When they were again on the beach the girl saw that the captain was indeed a weather prophet, for the leaden-grey clouds were being hurled toward them by a wind that was momentarily increasing in velocity. Luckily it came from over the sea and the water between the island and Tunkett would still be sheltered.
They were soon in the dory scudding toward the home port, but barely had they landed when the snow began to fall so thick and fast that they could scarcely see each other.