“What do you mean?
I’ve got to go home at once.
The others will be wondering what has happened to me.”
But a moment later she asked, “Mr. Tumnus!
Whatever is the matter?” for the Faun’s brown eyes had filled with tears and then the tears began trickling down its cheeks, and soon they were running off the end of its nose; and at last it covered its face with its hands and began to howl.
“Mr. Tumnus!
Mr. Tumnus!” said Lucy in great distress.
“Don’t! Don’t!
What is the matter?
Aren’t you well?
Dear Mr. Tumnus, do tell me what is wrong.”
But the Faun continued sobbing as if its heart would break.
And even when Lucy went over and put her arms round him and lent him her handkerchief, he did not stop.
He merely took the handkerchief and kept on using it, wringing it out with both hands whenever it got too wet to be any more use, so that presently Lucy was standing in a damp patch.
“Mr. Tumnus!” bawled Lucy in his ear, shaking him.
“Do stop.
Stop it at once!
You ought to be ashamed of yourself, a great big Faun like you.
What on earth are you crying about?”
“Oh—oh—oh!” sobbed Mr. Tumnus,
“I’m crying because I’m such a bad Faun.”
“I don’t think you’re a bad Faun at all,” said Lucy.
“I think you are a very good Faun.
You are the nicest Faun I’ve ever met.”
“Oh—oh—you wouldn’t say that if you knew,” replied Mr. Tumnus between his sobs.
“No, I’m a bad Faun.
I don’t suppose there ever was a worse Faun since the beginning of the world.”
“But what have you done?” asked Lucy.
“My old father, now,” said Mr. Tumnus; “that’s his picture over the mantelpiece. He would never have done a thing like this.”
“A thing like what?” said Lucy.
“Like what I’ve done,” said the Faun.
“Taken service under the White Witch. That’s what I am.
I’m in the pay of the White Witch.”
“The White Witch?
Who is she?”
“Why, it is she that has got all Narnia under her thumb.
It’s she that makes it always winter.
Always winter and never Christmas; think of that!”
“How awful!” said Lucy.
“But what does she pay you for?”
“That’s the worst of it,” said Mr. Tumnus with a deep groan.
“I’m a kidnapper for her, that’s what I am.
Look at me, Daughter of Eve.
Would you believe that I’m the sort of Faun to meet a poor innocent child in the wood, one that had never done me any harm, and pretend to be friendly with it, and invite it home to my cave, all for the sake of lulling it asleep and then handing it over to the White Witch?”
“No,” said Lucy.
“I’m sure you wouldn’t do anything of the sort.”
“But I have,” said the Faun.
“Well,” said Lucy rather slowly (for she wanted to be truthful and yet not be too hard on him), “well, that was pretty bad.
But you’re so sorry for it that I’m sure you will never do it again.”
“Daughter of Eve, don’t you understand?” said the Faun.