The evening wore on. It was one of beautiful moonlight, and the party of young people went out on the beach to have a marshmallow roast over a drift-wood fire.
"The sea sparkles—just like diamonds," said Mollie, as they turned to go back to the cottage, when the little frolic had ended.
"Hush!" cautioned Betty. "Some one might hear you," and she looked out over the bay as though she might catch a glimpse of the rough men in the boat.
"You have diamonds on the brain," chided Grace.
The cottage became quiet. Only dim night lights burned. Betty had taken to her room the queer box, which had given up part of its secret. Her father had the diamonds with him.
It was Grace who gave the alarm. Awakening at she knew not what hour, and feeling the need of a drink of water, she donned a dressing gown and found her slippers. As she went through the hall to the bathroom, she saw a dark figure, unmistakably that of a man, gliding down the corridor. Under his arm was the black box, and in one hand was held a tissue paper packet.
"The diamonds!" screamed Grace, her voice shrilling out in the night. "Burglars are after the diamonds!"