The narrative tension reaches a breaking point when Mary Lennox, exhausted from her work in the garden, is jolted awake in the middle of the night by "dreadful noises." The atmosphere at Misselthwaite Manor is shattered by "doors slamming" and the sound of someone "crying and screaming horribly." Recognizing the source of the chaos as her cousin Colin, Mary finds herself feeling "sick and shivery." However, rather than yielding to fear, she experiences a surge of defiance. She describes a desire to "have a tantrum herself" to mirror Colin’s behavior, a moment that marks her transition from a passive observer to an active agent in her cousin’s life.
When Mary bursts into Colin's room, she finds him in the throes of a "hysterical" episode, "jumping around like a caught fish" with a "red and swollen" face. Her intervention is brutal but necessary. She confronts him with raw honesty, shouting, "I hate you. Everybody does." By threatening to "scream louder than you" if he persists, Mary effectively shocks Colin out of his self-absorbed rage. This confrontational approach acts as a catalyst for truth. Colin reveals the root of his terror: he felt "a lump on my back," a fear that had been fueling his hypochondria and tantrums. Mary’s fierce dismissal of this fear as an "imaginary, hysterical lump" forces a reality check that the terrified boy desperately needed.
To validate her claims, Mary demands that the nurse expose Colin’s spine. Despite the nurse’s hesitation, the revelation is clear: while Colin is "pitifully thin" with visible ribs, there is "not a single lump" on his back. This moment is transformative for Colin. For the first time, he is spoken to without the sycophantic coddling of the household staff. When the nurse confirms that his back is merely "weak from disuse," Colin experiences a profound shift in perspective, asking tentatively, "Do you think I could live to grow up?" This question signals the emergence of a "real boy" rather than the spoiled "Raja" he had been playing for years.
As the adrenaline of the confrontation fades, the relationship between the two children softens. Colin expresses a desire to "go out" and meet Dickon, showing a willingness to engage with the world beyond his sickroom—a stark contrast to his previous reclusive nature. The secret garden, which had been a point of contention and mystery, becomes the foundation of their burgeoning bond.
Colin, now exhausted, begs Mary to describe the garden, viewing her descriptions as "better than picture books." Mary paints a vivid picture of "rose vines" climbing walls and "daffodils and snowdrops" waiting underground. Through her storytelling, she lulls him into a peaceful sleep, effectively replacing his nightmares of illness with dreams of nature and growth. This chapter serves as a critical pivot; by confronting Colin’s delusions, Mary has not only helped him regain his composure but has also invited him into the healing promise of the secret garden, setting the stage for their collective recovery.