Baltu the Phoenician left his bales of merchandise and returned to the side of the trembling Bhanar. Erdu, his steersman could count the bales as well as he. As each tenth bale passed over the vessel’s side, Erdu sang out the tally. He checked it with a mark upon a piece of potsherd which he held in his hand. Misunderstanding the signs of excitement which appeared in the face of the trembling Bhanar, following Renny’s signal, the Phoenician merchant sought to interest her in the sights about her. In a few moments she would be off his hands forever. She must not be allowed to break down at this juncture. In a voice which he sought to make sympathetic Baltu pointed out the wonders of the Western Bank. He named the builders of the various temples, shrines and gold-capped obelisks; the owners of the more important villas whose gardens lined the river bank. He even attempted to give some chronological sequence to the intricate maze of rock-hewn tombs which rose, vast and imposing, from the edge of the Theban Plain to a point high up beneath the crumbling cliffs of the western hills. Yet, Bhanar found little of interest in her surroundings. Her eyes dwelt fearfully upon the treeless hills, upon the mud-walled villages and gloomy temples. She noted that each and all of the Theban temples were guarded from the eyes of mortals by high and forbidding walls of solid masonry. How different was this to the hospitality of her own little temple, whose snowy colonnades were open to every passerby; its great wooden doors thrown open from sunrise to sunset! Again, in contradistinction to these sun-baked hills her native village nestled in an olive grove, its encircling hills were green with pastures and crowned with thickly growing trees. At this very season its fields were yellow with the fragrant Syrian crocus. Over all was a sky blue as a turquoise, an atmosphere pure and limpid. How different from the blazing heat of Egypt and that great throbbing cauldron of molten brass which the Egyptians called their sky! Presently she would be swallowed up in one of those forbidding temples, palaces or villas! She thought that the well of her tears had dried, yet now the tears sprang hot and blinding to her eyes. Fearing that she might ruin his chances if she lost that soft rose coloring he so prized, to divert her Baltu led her to the cabin door and bade her robe herself to go ashore. Baltu took from his long fringed gown two small gold-capped jars of obsidian and placed them in her hands: “Descend to thy cabin, my Rose-bud. Bid Darman let down that glossy hair of thine. Let her sprinkle a little of this perfumed oil and gold dust upon it. The oil is more precious than the gold. Let her not waste a drop. Now haste thee, my Syrian Crocus! We go ashore immediately.” Soon Bhanar was arrayed in a cream-colored robe, a golden girdle encircled her slender waist, a diadem gleamed in her perfumed hair.