"But I did not promise treasure," said the old man. "I promised a search."
Fiona's face fell.
"Then am I not to find anything at the end of it?" she asked.
The old man chuckled quietly.
"I did not say that either," he said. "There is a treasure, and you shall search for it; and you will find it if you are able. Many there are who helped to build it up. Cuchulain and the forgotten heroes who fought before Cuchulain; Ossian and the forgotten bards who sang before Ossian; Columba and the forgotten saints who died before Columba; each has added something to the pile. It is their treasure which you shall seek for; that is my gift to you."
"How shall I know where to begin?" asked the girl. "And may I take the Urchin with me?"
"Whether you can take the Urchin with you or not depends on his capacity to go," said the old man. "And as to beginning, I think you will find that the Search will begin itself, independently of you. It always does. But I can give you something that will help you," and he took out of his pocket a red copper bangle, rudely hammered out with some rough implement, which he slipped over her wrist. "That was made long ago," he said, "made by men to whom metal was a new toy, men who perhaps were nearer to the heart of things than we are."
"You will stay and have some dinner, will you not?" said the Student. "At least, if this is a dinner night. Fiona, is this a dinner night?"
"I have my doubts," said the girl. "Oat cake and honeysuckle, I expect."
"And what better?" said the old man. "But I fear I could not dine with you, were it ortolans and Tokay. For I may never eat beneath a roof. The open moor is my dining hall, and the stars serve me. And the long white road is calling me even now. But I think that before the treasure is found you will see me again."