"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. "No"—he hesitate—"it is the usual feast that follows the sacrament! Lugur—and Double Tongue, who came with you, will be there," he added slowly.
"Lugur—" I gasped in astonishment. "After what happened—he will be there?"
"Perhaps because of what happened, Goodwin, my friend," he answered—his eyes again full of malice; "and there will be others—friends of Yolara—friends of Lugur—and perhaps another"—his voice was almost inaudible—"one whom they have not called—" He halted, half-fearfully, glancing at the globe; put finger to lips and spread himself out upon one of the couches.
"Strike up the band"—came O'Keefe's voice—"here comes the hero!"
He strode into the room. I am bound to say that the admiration in Rador's eyes was reflected in my own, and even, if involuntarily, in Olaf's.
"A son of Siyana!" whispered Rador.
He knelt, took from his girdle-pouch a silk-wrapped something, unwound it—and, still kneeling, drew out a slender poniard of gleaming white metal, hilted with the blue stones; he thrust it into O'Keefe's girdle; then gave him again the rare salute.