A second later he was fighting blindly with some thing that clung unpleasantly to him. It took him a moment to realize that this was the mosquito net round his bed. He was out on the floor in his own room at home. He had been dreaming, and was now awake; but the screams continued, and were most horribly real. It was not Becky's voice—no child could have cried like that.
There was a door from his room into Mrs. Orban's, and through this the boy dashed.
"Mother, mother," he cried, "what is happening?"
There was a light in the room. Mrs. Orban was standing with a look of terror on her face.
"I don't know," she said unsteadily.
"It has been going on for ages," Eustace whispered.
But Mrs. Orban shook her head. "It has only just begun," she said. "I must go and see what is the matter."
Eustace was haunted by his dream—a second in a dream is equivalent to hours of real life.
"O mother, don't go!" he exclaimed in an agonized voice, and clung to her.
"I must," was the answer, and gently but firmly Mrs. Orban put the boy from her. "Perhaps one of the servants is ill. At least they are both frightened, and need me. Stay here with Becky."