Mr. Craven's dream and return
Archibald Craven's dream and return is the pivotal event that resolves the novel's central emotional arc: the reunion of a father who has spent ten years fleeing from grief with the son he believed was doomed to die a cripple. The event unfolds across two linked movements—a visionary dream experienced beside the Lake of Como and the decisive journey home—and culminates in the astonishing discovery that the secret garden's magic has already done its work.
The Dream by the Lake
Wandering through the Austrian Tyrol and then to the Lake of Como, Archibald Craven had for months carried a darkness so profound that strangers took him for a man half mad or burdened by a hidden crime. But one night, sitting on a terrace at the water's edge, breathing the scent of late roses and listening to the lapping water, he fell into a sleep so deep and real that afterward he could not distinguish it from waking. In the dream he heard a voice calling—sweet, clear, and happy, though seeming to come from very far away. It said, "Archie! Archie! Archie!" and then, sweeter and clearer, "Archie! Archie!" He answered, "Lilias! Lilias! where are you?" and the voice came back like a sound from a golden flute: "In the garden. In the garden!" He did not awaken but slept soundly through the night, and when morning came he found himself holding a letter from Susan Sowerby, who had written to urge him home. The dream and the letter together broke the ten-year spell: he ordered Pitcher to prepare for his return to England.
The Journey Home and the Changed Mind
On the long railway journey through mountain passes and golden plains, the man who was "coming alive" began to think in a new way. For the first time in ten years he allowed himself to remember the boy he had scarcely looked at—the weak, wretched infant everyone had expected to die, the child with the great gray eyes rimmed with black lashes, so like and yet so horribly unlike the happy eyes he had adored. He had supplied doctors and nurses and luxuries but had shrunk from the mere thought of his son, burying himself in his own misery. Now he wondered if it might be too late to do anything, but the strange calm that had taken possession of him brought a sort of courage and hope. Instead of giving way to thoughts of the worst, he found himself trying to believe in better things. He stopped the carriage at the Sowerby cottage on his way across the moor, but Susan Sowerby was away helping a woman with a new baby; her seven or eight sturdy children gathered round, bobbing curtsies, and he gave them a golden sovereign, smiling at their friendly grins.
The Discovery in the Garden
When he arrived at Misselthwaite Manor, the servants noticed that he looked better and that he did not retreat to his remote rooms. He went into the library and sent for Mrs. Medlock, who gave him a confused report: Master Colin was "different," his appetite past understanding, his ways peculiar; he insisted on being taken out every day by Miss Mary and Dickon Sowerby, and he stayed out from morning until night. Mr. Craven scarcely heard her last words. He repeated "In the garden" to himself and then walked out through the shrubbery and the fountain beds, crossed the lawn, and turned into the Long Walk by the ivied walls. As he drew near the place he had so long forsaken, he stopped still—and heard sounds inside the garden: running scuffling feet, lowered suppressed voices, exclamations and smothered joyous cries, the uncontrollable laughter of children trying not to be heard. Then the moment came when the sounds forgot to hush themselves. The feet ran faster, the door in the wall was flung wide open, the sheet of ivy swinging back, and a boy burst through at full speed, dashing almost into his arms. Mr. Craven held him away to look at him and truly gasped for breath. The boy was tall and handsome, glowing with life, his face flushed with running, his thick hair thrown back from his forehead, his strange gray eyes full of boyish laughter and rimmed with black lashes like a fringe. "Father," he said, "I'm Colin. You can't believe it. I scarcely can myself. I'm Colin." And then, as they walked into the garden together, Colin poured forth the whole story—the mystery and magic and wild creatures, the midnight meeting, the coming of the spring, the passion of insulted pride that had dragged him to his feet to defy old Ben Weatherstaff, the odd companionship, the play acting, the great secret so carefully kept. The listener laughed until tears came into his eyes and sometimes tears came when he was not laughing. When the story was done, Colin declared, "It need not be a secret any more. I shall walk back with you, Father—to the house." And across the lawn, with his head up in the air and his eyes full of laughter, walked as strongly and steadily as any boy in Yorkshire—Master Colin.
