Renny fell in with this whim of his powerful patron. Many a minor ornament, such as a small lotus bowl, incense-spoon or sacred image, had Renny produced, without neglecting to leave some slight detail for the handsome Overseer to finish. Renny’s artistic productions Menna incontinently made his own, adding _his_ name and titles together with the date of its completion.
Coming from the hand of such a critical student of the arts, these small, but ever choice mementoes were eagerly sought at Court. No one doubted but that they were the work of the gifted Overseer himself.
Of late gifts and mementoes of this sort had suddenly ceased to materialize, and Menna, taxed with laziness by his friends at Court, gave it to be understood that a far more important undertaking now engaged his time. But the true reason of the present inaction of the Overseer was due to Renny, the Syrian.
That unhappy youth, in his constant visits to the Palace to deliver his masters’ gifts and notes to Sesen, had seen all too much of the beautiful Princess.
Yet, a single visit, and that his first, had proved more than enough to cause the beauty-loving Renny to come beneath the spell of Sesen’s haunting loveliness.
Do what he would to conceal his senseless passion, Renny felt that the fire at his heart would mount to his eyes, the surging blood, that seemed ever about to burst his heart, would flame into his cheeks.
At one moment Renny soared into the highest heavens; the next found him plunged into the gloomiest despair. He, an unknown sculptor, a despised foreigner, dared to lift his eyes to an exalted lady of the Egyptian Court!
Knowing too well the hopelessness of his present position, Renny sought to hide his passion.
Unluckily for the distracted sculptor, his burning hand had come in contact with the tapering fingers of the Princess.
Straightway Renny had thrown himself upon his knees and poured out to her startled ears the torrent of passionate words which had so long trembled upon his lips. Renny lost his head; his discretion vanished to the four winds of Heaven.
Sesen gazed down at the bowed head of the young sculptor in utter bewilderment. She could not have said whether she was more surprised, angered or amused. She clapped her hands twice; she would hand him to the guards. Yet, as the archers appeared from behind the columns of the courtyard, she changed her mind. A sudden wave of tenderest sympathy for Bhanar swept over the Princess. So it was not Bhanar he had sought so eagerly. Her heart ached for the quiet little maid standing so still and mute behind her. She turned to Bhanar: