Then the voice said, "In what clothes will you enter?"
"In my best clothes," shouted the Turk, "the ones I stole." And he clad himself in a splendid turban and a waistcoat embroidered with silver, and baggy trousers, and a great belt in which were stuck pipes and pistols and knives.
"And in what clothes will you enter?" said the voice to Mr. Andrews.
Mr. Andrews thought of his best clothes, but he had no wish to wear them again. At last he remembered and said, "Robes."
"Of what colour and fashion?" asked the voice.
Mr. Andrews had never thought about the matter much. He replied, in hesitating tones, "White, I suppose, of some flowing soft material," and he was immediately given a garment such as he had described. "Do I wear it rightly?" he asked.
"Wear it as it pleases you," replied the voice. "What else do you desire?"
"A harp," suggested Mr. Andrews. "A small one."
A small gold harp was placed in his hand.
"And a palm—no, I cannot have a palm, for it is the reward of martyrdom; my life has been tranquil and happy."