So she went on with her dim light

　　So she went on with her dim light, almost feeling her way,her heart beating so loud that she fancied she couldhear it. The far-off faint crying went on and led her.
　　Sometimes it stopped for a moment or so and then began again.
　　Was this the right corner to turn? She stopped and thought.
　　Yes it was. Down this passage and then to the left,and then up two broad steps, and then to the right again.
　　Yes, there was the tapestry door.
　　She pushed it open very gently and closed it behind her,and she stood in the corridor and could hear the cryingquite plainly, though it was not loud. It was on the otherside of the wall at her left and a few yards farther onthere was a door. She could see a glimmer of light comingfrom beneath it. The Someone was crying in that room,and it was quite a young Someone.
　　So she walked to the door and pushed it open, and thereshe was standing in the room!
　　It was a big room with ancient, handsome furniture in it.
　　There was a low fire glowing faintly on the hearth and anight light burning by the side of a carved four-postedbed hung with brocade, and on the bed was lying a boy,crying fretfully.
　　Mary wondered if she was in a real place or if she hadfallen asleep again and was dreaming without knowing it.
　　The boy had a sharp, delicate face the color of ivoryand he seemed to have eyes too big for it. He hadalso a lot of hair which tumbled over his foreheadin heavy locks and made his thin face seem smaller.
　　He looked like a boy who had been ill, but he was cryingmore as if he were tired and cross than as if he were in pain.
　　Mary stood near the door with her candle in her hand,holding her breath. Then she crept across the room, and,as she drew nearer, the light attracted the boy's attentionand he turned his head on his pillow and stared at her,his gray eyes opening so wide that they seemed immense.
　　"Who are you?" he said at last in a half-frightened whisper.
　　"Are you a ghost?""No, I am not," Mary answered, her own whisper soundinghalf frightened. "Are you one?"He stared and stared and stared. Mary could not helpnoticing what strange eyes he had. They were agategray and they looked too big for his face because theyhad black lashes all round them.
　　"No," he replied after waiting a moment or so.
　　"I am Colin.""Who is Colin?" she faltered.
　　"I am Colin Craven. Who are you?""I am Mary Lennox. Mr. Craven is my uncle.""He is my father," said the boy.
　　"Your father!" gasped Mary. "No one ever told me hehad a boy! Why didn't they?""Come here," he said, still keeping his strange eyesfixed on her with an anxious expression.
　　She came close to the bed and he put out his handand touched her.
　　"You are real, aren't you?" he said. "I have such realdreams very often. You might be one of them."Mary had slipped on a woolen wrapper before she lefther room and she put a piece of it between his fingers.
　　"Rub that and see how thick and warm it is," she said.
　　"I will pinch you a little if you like, to show you how realI am. For a minute I thought you might be a dream too.""Where did you come from?" he asked.