"My name is Kasih."
"And that girl behind you—she is hiding—why does she not come forward?"
"It is Kasukah—my sister," he said, looking round with a smile; "she is shy, and frightened, perhaps."
"What outlandish names! You must be gypsies," said Olga rudely, "and perhaps thieves."
"Indeed, lady, you are mistaken; on the contrary, it is in our power to bestow upon you many priceless gifts. But we have travelled far to find you, and are weary; only bid us welcome—let us go with you to the castle to rest—Kasukah——"
"How dare you speak so to me?" interrupted Olga, in a fury. "To the castle, indeed—what are you thinking of? There is a poor-house somewhere, I have heard the people say, maintained by my father's bounty out of the taxes, you can go there. Go at once—or——"
She raised the little silver-handled dog-whip which hung at her girdle. To do her justice, she was no coward. Kasukah had quite disappeared; the boy stood alone looking at Olga with sad, reproachful eyes. For a moment, she thought what a pity he was so poor and shabby; he had the face and bearing of a king. But she was too proud to change her tone.
"Or what?" he said.
"I will drive you away," she said defiantly. Still Kasih did not move, and the next moment she had struck him smartly across the cheek with the whip.
He made no effort at self-defence or retaliation, only it seemed to her that she herself felt the pain of the wound. For a few instants she saw his sorrowful face grown white and stern, and the red, glowing scar which her whip had caused; then, like Kasukah, he seemed to vanish, and disappeared among the trees, while where he had stood a sunbeam crossed the grass.