“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 who has got all Narnia under her thumb. It’s she who 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. “It isn’t something I have done. I‘m doing it now， this very moment.”
“What do you mean？” cried Lucy， turning very white.
“You are the child，” said Tumnus. “I had orders from the White Witch that if ever I saw a Son of Adam or a Daughter of Eve in the wood， I was to catch them and hand them over to her. And you are the first I’ve ever met. And I‘ve pretended to be your friend an asked you to tea， and all the time I’ve been meaning to wait till you were asleep and then go and tell Her.”
“Oh， but you won‘t， Mr Tumnus，” said Lucy. “You won’t， will you？ Indeed， indeed you really mustn‘t.”
“And if I don’t，” said he， beginning to cry again “she‘s sure to find out. And she’ll have my tail cut off， and my horns sawn off， and my beard plucked out， and she‘ll wave her wand over my beautiful cloven hoofs and turn them into horrid solid hoofs like a wretched horse’s.
And if she is extra and specially angry she‘ll turn me into stone and I shall be only a statue of a Faun in her horrible house until the four thrones at Cair Paravel are filled-and goodness knows when that will happen， or whether it will ever happen at all.”
“I’m very sorry， Mr Tumnus，” said Lucy. “But please let me go home.”
“Of course I will，” said the Faun. “Of course I‘ve got to. I see that now. I hadn’t known what Humans were like before I met you. Of course I can‘t give you up to the Witch， not now that I know you. But we must be off at once. I’ll see you back to the lamp-post. I suppose you can find your own way from there back to Spare Oom and War Drobe？”
“I‘m sure I can，” said Lucy.
“We must go as quietly as we can，” said Mr Tumnus. “The whole wood is full of her spies. Even some of the trees are on her side.”
They both got up and left the tea things on the table， and Mr Tumnus once more put up his umbrella and gave Lucy his arm， and they went out into the snow. The journey back was not at all like the journey to the Faun’s cave； they stole along as quickly as they could， without speaking a word， and Mr Tumnus kept to the darkest places. Lucy was relieved when they reached the lamp-post again.
“Do you know your way from here， Daughter of Eve？” said Mr Tumnus.
Lucy looked very hard between the trees and could just see in the distance a patch of light that looked like daylight. “Yes，” she said， “I can see the wardrobe door.”
“Then be off home as quick as you can，” said the Faun， “and-c-can you ever forgive me for what I meant to do？”
“Why， of course I can，” said Lucy， shaking him heartily by the hand. “And I do hope you won‘t get into dreadful trouble on my account.”
“Farewell， Daughter of Eve，” said he. “Perhaps I may keep the handkerchief ？”