"Where is Danira? Doesn't she know that I am here?"
"Yes, but she refuses to come in."
"Compel her, then!" said Marco, roughly.
"Compel Danira? You do not know my sister."
"I would compel her, and I will, as soon as she is mine; rely upon that. Call her in."
The command sounded very imperious, but Stephan Hersovac obeyed. He was still very young, and apparently not equal to the position circumstances had forced upon him.
Only the elder of the sons of the two fallen leaders seemed capable of taking his father's place, yet they had grown up together like brothers in the house of Joan Obrevic after the latter brought his dead friend's son home. But, even in those days, the energetic Marco exerted authority over his younger and more yielding friend. Stephan was accustomed to submit to him, and did so absolutely, now that he stood at the head of the tribe.
After a few minutes Danira appeared. She, too, wore the costume of the country, yet even here in her home there was something foreign in her aspect. She had nothing at all in common with the women of her race, the timid, humble creatures born and reared to subjection. There was a cold pride in her bearing as she approached Marco and bent her head, as though his imperious summons had been a petition, and she had granted it.
Obrevic must have received this impression, for his eyes glowed with a fervent, passionate admiration, although his voice remained cold and harsh, as he asked:
"Can you not greet the guest who comes to your brother's hearth, or don't you wish to do so?"