The old man touched the Traveller on the arm. "Listen," he said gently. "This is not the Temple of Knowledge. And the Ideals are not a chain of mountains; they are a stretch of plains, and the Temple of Knowledge is in their centre. You have come the wrong road. Alas, poor Traveller!"
The light in the Traveller's eyes had faded. The hope in his heart died.
And he became old and withered. He leaned heavily on his staff.
"Can one rest here?" he asked wearily.
"No."
"Is there a way down the other side of these mountains?"
"No."
"What are these mountains called?"
"They have no name."
"And the temple—how do you call the temple?"
"It has no name!"