“Please.Mr Lion.Aslan.Sir，” said Digor y， “could you.may I.please， will you give me some magic fruit of this country to make Mother well？”
He had been desperately hoping that the Lion would say “Yes”； he had been horribly afraid it might say “No”. But he was taken aback when it did neither.
“This is the Boy，” said Aslan， looking， not at Digory， but at his councillors. “This is the Boy who did it.”
“Oh dear，” thought Digory， “what have I done now？” “Son of Adam，” said the Lion. “There is an evil Witchabroad in my new land of Narnia. Tell these good Beasts how she came here.”
A dozen different things that he might say flashed through Digory‘s mind， but he had the sense to say nothing except the exact truth.
“I brought her， Aslan，” he answered in a low voice. “For what purpose？”
“I wanted to get her out of my own world back into her own. I thought I was taking her back to her own place.”
“How came she to be in your world， Son of Adam？” “By.by Magic.”
The Lion said nothing and Digory knew that he had not told enough.
