Crying
is all right in its way while it lasts. But you have to stop sooner
or later, and then you still have to decide what to do. When Jill
stopped, she found she was dreadfully thirsty. She had been lying
face downward, and now she sat up. The birds had ceased singing and
there was perfect silence, except for one, small, persistent sound,
which seemed to come from a good difference away. She listened
carefully, and felt almost sure it was the sound of running water.
Jill
got up and looked round her very carefully. There was no sign of the
lion; but there were so many trees about that it might easily be
quite close without her seeing it. For all she knew, there might be
several lions. But her thirst was very bad now, and she plucked up
her courage to go and look for that running water. She went on
tiptoes, stealing cautiously from tree to tree, and stopping to peer
round her at every step.
The
wood was so still that it was not difficult to decide where the
sound was coming from. It grew clearer every moment and, sooner than
she expected, she came to an open glade and saw the stream, bright
as glass, running across the turf a stone’s throw away from her.
But although the sight of the water made her feel ten times
thirstier than before, she didn’t rush forward and drink. She
stood as still as if she had been turned into stone, with her mouth
wide open. And she had a very good reason; just on this side of the
stream lay the lion.
It
lay with its head raised and its two fore-paws out in front of it,
like the lions in Trafalgar Square. She knew at once that it had
seen her, for its eyes looked straight into hers for a moment and
turned away – as if it knew her quite well and didn’t think much
of her.
“If
I run away, it’ll be after me in a moment,” thought Jill. “And
if I go on, I shall run straight into its mouth.” Anyway, she
couldn’t take her eyes off it. How long this lasted, she could not
be sure; it seemed like hours. And the thirst became so bad that she
almost felt she would not mind being eaten by the lion if only she
could be sure of getting a mouthful of water first.
“If
you’re thirsty, you may drink.”
They
were the first words she had heard since Scrubb had spoken to her on
the edge of the cliff. For a second she stared here and there,
wondering who had spoken. Then the voice said again, “If you are
thirsty, come and drink,” and of course she remembered what Scrubb
had said about animals talking in that other world and realized that
it was the lion speaking. Anyway, she had not seen its lips move
this time, and the voice was not like a man’s. It was deeper,
wilder, and stronger; a sort of heavy, golden voice. It did not make
her any less frightened than she had been before, but it made her
frightened in rather a different way.
“Are
you not thirsty?” said the Lion?
“I’m
dying of thirst,” said Jill.
“Then
drink,” said the Lion.
“May
I – could I – would you mind going away while I do?” said
Jill?
The
Lion answered this only by a look and a very low growl. And as Jill
gazed at its motionless bulk, she realized that she might as well
have asked the whole mountain to move aside for her convenience.
The
delicious rippling noise of the stream was driving her nearly
frantic.
“Will
you promise not to – do anything to me if I do come? Said Jill.
“I
make no promise,” said the Lion.
Jill
was so thirsty now that, without noticing it, she had come a step
nearer.
“Do
you eat girls?” she said.
“I
have swallowed up girls and boys, women and men, kings and emperors,
cities and realms,” said the Lion. It didn’t say this as if it
were boasting, nor as if it were sorry, nor as if it were angry. It
just said it.
“I
daren’t come and drink,” said Jill.
“Then
you will die of thirst,” said the Lion.
“Oh,
dear,” said Jill, coming another step nearer. “I suppose I must
go and look for another stream then.”
“There
is no other stream,” said the Lion.
