Puddleglum was still fighting hard. “I don’t know rightly what you all mean by a world，” he said， talking like a man who hasn‘t enough air. “But you can play that fiddle till your fingers drop off， and still you won’t make me forget Narnia； and the whole Overworld too. We‘ll never see it again， I shouldn’t wonder. You may have blotted it out and turned it dark like this， for all I know. Nothing more likely. But I know I was there once. I‘ve seen the sky full of stars. I’ve seen the sun coming up out of the sea of a morning and sinking behind the mountains at night. And I‘ve seen him up in the midday sky when I couldn’t look at him for brightness.”
Puddleglum‘s words had a very rousing effect. The other three all breathed again and looked at one another like people newly awaked.
“Why， there it is！” cried the Prince. “Of course！ The blessing of Aslan upon this honest Marsh-wiggle. We have all been dreaming， these last few minutes. How could we have forgotten it？ Of course we’ve all seen the sun.”
“By Jove， so we have！” said Scrubb. “Good for you， Puddleglum！ You‘re the only one of us with any sense， I do believe.”
Then came the Witch’s voice， cooing softly like the voice of a wood-pigeon from the high elms in an old garden at three o‘clock in the middle of a sleepy， summer afternoon； and it said：
“What is this sun that you all speak of ？ Do you mean anything by the word？”
“Yes， we jolly well do，” said Scrubb.
“Can you tell me what it’s like？” asked the Witch （thrum， thrum， thrum， went the strings）.
“Please it your Grace，” said the Prince， very coldly and politely. “You see that lamp. It is round and yellow and gives light to the whole room， and hangeth moreover from the roof. Now that thing which we call the sun is like the lamp， only far greater and brighter. It giveth light to the whole Overworld and hangeth in the sky.”
“Hangeth from what， my lord？” asked the Witch； and then， while they were all still thinking how to answer her， she added， with another of her soft， silver laughs： “You see？ When you try to think out clearly what this sun must be， you cannot tell me. You can only tell me it is like the lamp. Your sun is a dream； and there is nothing in that dream that was not copied from the lamp. The lamp is the real thing； the sun is but a tale， a children‘s story.”
“Yes， I see now，” said Jill in a heavy， hopeless tone. “It must be so.” And while she said this， it seemed to her to be very good sense.
Slowly and gravely the Witch repeated， “There is no sun.” And they all said nothing. She repeated， in a softer and deeper voice. “There is no sun.” After a pause， and after a struggle in their minds， all four of them said together. “You are right. There is no sun.” It was such a relief to give in and say it.
“There never was a sun，” said the Witch.
“No. There never was a sun，” said the Prince， and the Marsh-wiggle， and the children.
For the last few minutes Jill had been feeling that there was something she must remember at all costs. And now she did. But it was dreadfullyhard to say it. She felt as if huge weights were laid on her lips. At last， with an effort that seemed to take all the good out of her， she said：
“There’s Aslan.”
“Aslan？” said the Witch， quickening ever so slightly the pace of her thrumming. “What a pretty name！ What does it mean？”
“He is the great Lion who called us out of our own world，” said Scrubb， “and sent us into this to find Prince Rilian.”
“What is a lion？” asked the Witch.
“Oh， hang it all！” said Scrubb. “Don‘t you know？ How can we describe it to her？ Have you ever seen a cat？”
“Surely，” said the Queen. “I love cats.”
“Well， a lion is a little bit-only a little bit， mind you-like a huge cat-with a mane. At least， it’s not like a horse‘s mane， you know， it’s more like a judge‘s wig. And it’s yellow. And terrifically strong.”
The Witch shook her head. “I see，” she said， “that we should do no better with your lion， as you call it， than we did with your sun. You have seen lamps， and so you imagined a bigger and better lamp and called it the sun. You‘ve seen cats， and now you want a bigger and better cat， and it’s to be called a lion. Well， ‘tis a pretty make- believe， though， to say truth， it would suit you all better if you were younger. And look how you can put nothing into your make-believe without copying it from the real world， this world of mine， which is the only world. But even you children are too old for such play. As for you， my lord Prince， that art a man full grown， fie upon you！ Are you not ashamed of such toys？ Come， all of you. Put away these childish tricks. I have work for you all in the real world. There is no Narnia， no Overworld， no sky， no sun， no Aslan. And now， to bed all. And let us begin a wiser life tomorrow. But， first， to bed； to sleep； deep sleep， softpillows， sleep without foolish dreams.”
The Prince and the two children were standing with their heads hung down， their cheeks flushed， their eyes half closed； the strength all gone from them； the enchantment almost complete. But Puddleglum， desperately gathering all his strength， walked over to the fire. Then he did a very brave thing. He knew it wouldn’t hurt him quite as muchas it would hurt a human； for his feet （which were bare） were webbed and hard and cold-blooded like a duck‘s. But he knew it would hurt him badly enough； and so it did. With his bare foot he stamped on the fire， grinding a large part of it into ashes on the flat hearth. And three things happened at once.
First， the sweet heavy smell grew very much less. For though the whole fire had not been put out， a good bit of it had， and what remained smelled very largely of burnt Marsh-wiggle， which is not at all an enchanting smell. This instantly made everyone’s brain far clearer. The Prince and the children held up their heads again and opened their eyes.
Secondly， the Witch， in a loud， terrible voice， utterly different from all the sweet tones she had been using up till now， called out， “What are you doing？ Dare to touch my fire again， mud-filth， and I‘ll turn the blood to fire inside your veins.”