Presently, the music ceased, and they sat for an hour, perhaps, in silence--as close friends may do--exchanging only now and then a word.
Suddenly, they were startled by a cry. In the still darkness of the night, from the mysterious depths of the orange grove, the sound came with such a shock that the two men, for the moment, held their places, motionless--questioning each other sharply--"What was that?" "Did you hear?"--as though they doubted, almost, their own ears.
The cry came again; this time, undoubtedly, from that neighboring house to the west. It was unmistakably the cry of a woman--a woman in fear and pain.
They leaped to their feet.
Again the cry came from the black depths of the orange grove--shuddering, horrible--in an agony of fear.
The two men sprang from the porch, and, through the darkness that in the orange grove was like a black wall, ran toward the spot from which the sound came--the dog at their heels.
Breathless, they broke into the little yard in front of the tiny box-like house. Lights shone in the windows. All seemed peaceful and still. Czar betrayed no uneasiness. Going to the front door, they knocked.
There was no answer save the sound of some one moving inside.
Again, the artist knocked vigorously.
The door opened, and a woman stood on the threshold.