“Auntie‘s very ill，” she said. “She’s going to die.”
Then Aslan went to go in at the door of the cottage， but it was too small for him. So， when he had got his headthrough， he pushed with his shoulders （Lucy and Susan fell off when he did this） and lifted the whole house up and it fell backwards and apart. And there， still in her bed， though the bed was now in the open air， lay a little old woman who looked as if she had Dwarf blood in her. She was at death‘s door， but when she opened her eyes and saw the bright， hairy head of the lion staring into her face， she did not scream or faint. She said， “Oh， Aslan！ I knew it was true. I’ve been waiting for this all my life. Have you come to take me away？”
“Yes， Dearest，” said Aslan. “But not the long journey yet.” And as he spoke， like the flush creeping along the underside of a cloud at sunrise， the colour came back to her white face and her eyes grew bright and she sat up and said， “Why， I do declare I feel that better. I think I could take a little breakfast this morning.”