“I wonder，” said Jewel， “whether Aslan might not come hough all the stars foretold otherwise. He is not the slave f the stars but their Maker. Is it not said in all the old ories that He is not a Tame lion.”
“Well said， well said， Jewel，” cried the King. “Those are he very words： not a tame lion. It comes in many tales.” Roonwit had just raised his hand and was leaning forward o say something very earnestly to the King when all three f them turned their heads to listen to a wailing sound that as quickly drawing nearer. The wood was so thick to theest of them that they could not see the newcomer yet. ut they could soon hear the words.
“Woe， woe， woe！” called the voice. “Woe for my brothers nd sisters！ Woe for the holy trees！ The woods are laid aste. The axe is loosed against us. We are being felled. reat trees are falling， falling， falling.”
With the last “falling” the speaker came in sight. She as like a woman but so tall that her head was on a vel with the Centaur‘s， yet she was like a tree too. It is ard to explain if you have never seen a Dryad but quite nmistakable once you have.something different in the olour， the voice， and the hair. King Tirian and the two easts knew at once that she was the nymph of a beech ee.
