Following his gift to her of Bhanar, the beautiful Syrian, each day brought to Sesen bunches of grapes, bursting pomegranates or succulent dates from Menna’s famous gardens. Frequently there were left at her door bags of powdered gold or lazuli for the floor of her rooms, or the choicest of fragrant oils and perfumes for her toilet. These last were sealed in little jars of rich blue glass or in black obsidian vases capped with gold. To-day Sesen opened an ebony coffer richly inlaid with ivory and gold. Enclosed within she found a frail wooden spoon, an incense spoon, carved to represent a little maiden stretched at full length in the attitude of a swimmer. The names and titles of Menna, the Overseer, appeared upon this exquisite work of art, yet, if truth be told, Renny the Syrian had fashioned it. As with Menna’s other gifts, a closely written sheet of fine papyrus accompanied the gift, whereon Sesen read of Menna’s passionate desire for a meeting. Enana had advised her to fan the flame of Menna’s passion for reasons he kept to himself. What would he say to this effusion! The lines were written alternately in letters of red and black: The cool zephyrs of the Northland can alone extinguish the flame of my love! I am become like the dried mimosa, ripe for the baker’s oven, The fire of her eyes hath withered it. When the dove pours forth its plaintive song, Sesen appears beneath the sycamore. Her slender form is mirrored in the garden pool. Seeing her, the Moon-goddess pines away with jealousy; the Sun-god bids her shine in his stead. A full moon is her gleaming face; The brightness of day glows upon her forehead; Her full throat gleams like the crystals which encircle it; The rose of the flamingo’s wing is upon her cheek; Her eyes, painted with black Thinite kohl, were the gift of Hathor at her birth, The fires that burn within them scatter flaming darts; Countless as the desert sands are the victims of those eyes! Waving is her slender form, like the palm trees of Erment. The dark shades of night hide in her hair, fragrant with musk and myrrh. A pomegranate is her mouth, her little teeth bright mother-of-pearl. By day she perfumes the air with the odors of the Incense Land. Her luster illuminates the darkest night! Ah, deign to heed my pleading, Daughter of Hathor! As apart from thee, I am as one among the Silent Ones; as one whose mouth has not been opened. Ask the Moon-goddess of my bitter state. She will tell thee that I am indeed the ally of sorrow and anguish. With a frown Sesen tore the note into little pieces and went on with her interrupted game of draughts with Merit-aton, Pharaoh’s eldest daughter.