The feast given that evening by Musa was a magnificent affair, for the well-stocked market of Banda had been ransacked for dainties, and the cooking operations had been on a portentous scale. It was my friends’ last evening at Banda, and they intended that it should be a memorable one. Accordingly the feasting commenced early and went on until the town was wrapped in silence, and even then was only brought to a close by the extermination of everything eatable. Yet it was not a scene of gluttony, for as soon as the edge was worn off the appetites of the revellers, conversation and anecdote took the place of steady eating, and very soon a demand was made for an account of my adventures; to which I responded with perfect frankness, giving a true and detailed account of all that had befallen me, excepting the incident of the treasure. I had for a moment thought of confiding this secret to them also, and of engaging them to help me to remove the gold, but on reflection I resolved to speak of the matter to no one until I had consulted Pereira, with whose aid I had no doubt I could organise an expedition for lifting the treasure with safety and certainty. When we were about to separate for the night I took out my purse, and setting on the mat five sovereigns, pushed them towards Musa. “At daybreak to-morrow,” I said, “you all depart for Bontúku. Before we part, I wish to give you a little present that you may buy something to take back to your country.” “Nay,” replied Musa, pushing the coins back, “put up thy money. Thou wilt want all that thou hast on thy journey.” “Not so,” I rejoined. “I have enough for my needs, and it will be a pleasure to me, if it please God that we meet no more, to think that my friends have taken with them to their country some little thing, which when they look on will bid them think of their old comrade, Yúsufu Dan-Égadesh.” “It shall be as thou sayest, and we thank thee, my son,” said Musa, taking up the coins; “but it needs not thy gifts to make us remember thee, and we shall at least all meet again where there is no buying and selling nor long journeys, nor weariness of the feet nor hunger and thirst.” At daybreak Musa and his people were up and ready to start. Aminé and I walked with them for half a mile along the Bontúku road, and we then took leave of them with many expressions of affection and goodwill on both sides. “God be with thee, my son,” said Musa, “and may we meet again soon. One thing I would counsel thee, and that is that thou walkest no more with those vagabond minstrels. Either go thy way alone, or wait until some men of reputation will journey with thee.” “I will remember thy words, my father,” I replied, and pressing his hand once more I turned back. I was strongly disposed to abide by the old man’s advice and cut myself adrift from the good-for-nothing musicians, and had, indeed, almost made up my mind when, on reaching our house, I found them waiting at the gate.