The green dwarf took it, dismissed him, threw open the lid.
"Here is your apparel for the feast, _Larree_," he said, pointing to the contents.
O'Keefe stared, reached down and drew out a white, shimmering, softly metallic, long-sleeved tunic, a broad, silvery girdle, leg swathings of the same argent material, and sandals that seemed to be cut out from silver.

He made a quick gesture of angry dissent.
"Nay, _Larree_!" muttered the dwarf.

"Wear them--I counsel it--I pray it--ask me not why," he went on swiftly, looking again at the globe.
O'Keefe, as I, was impressed by his earnestness.

The dwarf made a curiously expressive pleading gesture.

O'Keefe abruptly took the garments; passed into the room of the fountain.
"The Shining One dances not again ?" I asked.
"No," he said.