turned；　and　Miss　Murdstone　came　in　with　some　bread　and　meat；
  and　milk。　These　she　put　down　upon　the　table　without　a　word；
  glaring　at　me　the　while　with　exemplary　firmness；　and　then　retired；
  locking　the　door　after　her。
  Long　after　it　was　dark　I　sat　there；　wondering　whether　anybody
  else　would　come。　When　this　appeared　improbable　for　that　night；　I
  undressed；　and　went　to　bed；　and；　there；　I　began　to　wonder
  fearfully　what　would　be　done　to　me。　Whether　it　was　a　criminal　act
  that　I　had　committed？　Whether　I　should　be　taken　into　custody；
  and　sent　to　prison？　Whether　I　was　at　all　in　danger　of　being
  hanged？
  I　never　shall　forget　the　waking；　next　morning；　the　being
  cheerful　and　fresh　for　the　first　moment；　and　then　the　being
  weighed　down　by　the　stale　and　dismal　oppression　of
  remembrance。　Miss　Murdstone　reappeared　before　I　was　out　of
  bed；　told　me；　in　so　many　words；　that　I　was　free　to　walk　in　the
  garden　for　half　an　hour　and　no　longer；　and　retired；　leaving　the
  door　open；　that　I　might　avail　myself　of　that　permission。
  I　did　so；　and　did　so　every　morning　of　my　imprisonment；　which
  lasted　five　days。　If　I　could　have　seen　my　mother　alone；　I　should
  have　gone　down　on　my　knees　to　her　and　besought　her　forgiveness；
  but　I　saw　no　one；　Miss　Murdstone　excepted；　during　the　whole
  time—except　at　evening　prayers　in　the　parlour；　to　which　I　was
  escorted　by　Miss　Murdstone　after　everybody　else　was　placed；
  where　I　was　stationed；　a　young　outlaw；　all　alone　by　myself　near　the
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  David　Copperfield
  door；　and　whence　I　was　solemnly　conducted　by　my　jailer；　before
  any　one　arose　from　the　devotional　posture。　I　only　observed　that
  my　mother　was　as　far　off　from　me　as　she　could　be；　and　kept　her
  face　another　way　so　that　I　never　saw　it；　and　that　Mr。　Murdstone’s
  hand　was　bound　up　in　a　large　linen　wrapper。
  The　length　of　those　five　days　I　can　convey　no　idea　of　to　any　one。
  They　occupy　the　place　of　years　in　my　remembrance。　The　way　in
  which　I　listened　to　all　the　incidents　of　the　house　that　made
  themselves　audible　to　me；　the　ringing　of　bells；　the　opening　and
  shutting　of　doors；　the　murmuring　of　voices；　the　footsteps　on　the
  stairs；　to　any　laughing；　whistling；　or　singing；　outside；　which
  seemed　more　dismal　than　anything　else　to　me　in　my　solitude　and
  disgrace—the　uncertain　pace　of　the　hours；　especially　at　night；
  when　I　would　wake　thinking　it　was　morning；　and　find　that　the
  family　were　not　yet　gone　to　bed；　and　that　all　the　length　of　night
  had　yet　to　come—the　depressed　dreams　and　nightmares　I　had—
  the　return　of　day；　noon；　afternoon；　evening；　when　the　boys　played
  in　the　churchyard；　and　I　watched　them　from　a　distance　within　the
  room；　being　ashamed　to　show　myself　at　the　window　lest　they
  should　know　I　was　a　prisoner—the　strange　sensation　of　never
  hearing　myself　speak—the　fleeting　intervals　of　something　like
  cheerfulness；　which　came　with　eating　and　drinking；　and　went
  away　with　it—the　setting　in　of　rain　one　evening；　with　a　fresh　smell；
  and　its　coming　down　faster　and　faster　between　me　and　the　church；
  until　it　and　gathering　night　seemed　to　quench　me　in　gloom；　and
  fear；　and　remorse—all　this　appears　to　have　gone　round　and　round
  for　years　instead　of　days；　it　is　so　vividly　and　strongly　stamped　on
  my　remembrance。　On　the　last　night　of　my　restraint；　I　was
  awakened　by　hearing　my　own　name　spoken　in　a　whisper。　I　started
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  David　Copperfield
  up　in　bed；　and　putting　out　my　arms　in　the　dark；　said：
  ‘Is　that　you；　Peggotty？’
  There　was　no　immediate　answer；　but　presently　I　heard　my
  name　again；　in　a　tone　so　very　mysterious　and　awful；　that　I　think　I
  should　have　gone　into　a　fit；　if　it　had　not　occurred　to　me　that　it　must
  have　come　through　the　keyhole。
  I　groped　my　way　to　the　door；　and　putting　my　own　lips　to　the
  keyhole；　whispered：　‘Is　that　you；　Peggotty　dear？’
  ‘Yes；　my　own　precious　Davy；’　she　replied。　‘Be　as　soft　as　a
  mouse；　or　the　Cat’ll　hear　us。’
  I　understood　this　to　mean　Miss　Murdstone；　and　was　sensible　of
  the　urgency　of　the　case；　her　room　being　close　by。
  ‘How’s　mama；　dear　Peggotty？　Is　she　very　angry　with　me？’
  I　could　hear　Peggotty　crying　softly　on　her　side　of　the　keyhole；　as
  I　was　doing　on　mine；　before　she　answered。　‘No。　Not　very。’
  ‘What　is　going　to　be　done　with　me；　Peggotty　dear？　Do　you
  know？’
  ‘School。　Near　London；’　was　Peggotty’s　answer。　I　was　obliged　to
  get　her　to　repeat　it；　for　she　spoke　it　the　first　time　quite　down　my
  throat；　in　consequence　of　my　having　forgotten　to　take　my　mouth
  away　from　the　keyhole　and　put　my　ear　there；　and　though　her
  words　tickled　me　a　good　deal；　I　didn’t　hear　them。
  ‘When；　Peggotty？’
  ‘Tomorrow。’
  ‘Is　that　the　reason　why　Miss　Murdstone　took　the　clothes　out　of
  my　drawers？’　which　she　had　done；　though　I　have　forgotten　to
  mention　it。
  ‘Yes；’　said　Peggotty。　‘Box。’
  ‘Shan’t　I　see　mama？’
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  David　Copperfield
  ‘Yes；’　said　Peggotty。　‘Morning。’
  Then　Peggotty　fitted　her　mouth　close　to　the　keyhole；　and
  delivered　these　words　through　it　with　as　much　feeling　and
  earnestness　as　a　keyhole　has　ever　been　the　medium　of
  communicating；　I　will　venture　to　assert：　shooting　in　each　broken
  little　sentence　in　a　convulsive　little　burst　of　its　own。
  ‘Davy；　dear。　If　I　ain’t　been　azackly　as　intimate　with　you。　Lately；
  as　I　used　to　be。　It　ain’t　because　I　don’t　love　you。　just　as　well　and
  more；　my　pretty　poppet。　It’s　because　I　thought　it　better　for　you。
  And　for　someone　else　besides。　Davy；　my　darling；　are　you　listening？
  Can　you　hear？’
  ‘Ye…ye…ye…yes；　Peggotty！’　I　sobbed。
  ‘My　own！’　said　Peggotty；　with　infinite　compassion。　‘What　I　want
  to　say；　is。　That　you　must　never　forget　me。　For　I’ll　never　forget　you。
  And　I’ll　take　as　much　care　of　your　mama；　Davy。　As　ever　I　took　of
  you。　And　I　won’t　leave　her。　The　day　may　come　when　she’ll　be　glad
  to　lay　her　poor　head。　On　her　stupid；　cross　old　Peggotty’s　arm
  again。　And　I’ll　write　to　you；　my　dear。　Though　I　ain’t　no　scholar。
  And　I’ll—I’ll—’　Peggotty　fell　to　kissing　the　keyhole；　as　she　couldn’t
  kiss　me。
  ‘Thank　you；　dear　Peggotty！’　said　I。　‘Oh；　thank　you！　Thank　you！
  Will　you　promise　me　one　thing；　Peggotty？　Will　you　write　and　tell
  Mr。　Peggotty　and　little　Em’ly；　and　Mrs。　Gummidge　and　Ham；　that
  I　am　not　so　bad　as　they　might　suppose；　and　that　I　sent　’em　all　my
  love—especially　to　little　Em’ly？　Will　you；　if　you　please；　Peggotty？’
  The　kind　soul　promised；　and　we　both　of　us　kissed　the　keyhole
  with　the　greatest　affection—I　patted　it　with　my　hand；　I　recollect；　as
  if　it　had　been　her　honest　face—and　parted。　From　that　night　there
  grew　up　in　my　breast　a　feeling　for　Peggotty　which　I　cannot　very
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  well　define。　She　did　not　replace　my　mother；　no　one　could　do　that；
  but　she　came　into　a　vacancy　in　my　heart；　which　closed　upon　her；
  and　I　felt　towards　her　something　I　have　never　felt　for　any　other
  human　being。　It　was　a　sort　of　comical　affection；　too；　and　yet　if　she
  had　died；　I　cannot　think　what　I　should　have　done；　or　how　I　should
  have　acted　out　the　tragedy　it　would　have　been　to　me。
  In　the　morning　Miss　Murdstone　appeared　as　usual；　and　told　me
  I　was　going　to　school；　which　was　not　altogether　such　news　to　me
  as　she　supposed。　She　also　informed　me　that　when　I　was　dressed；　I
  was　to　come　downstairs　into　the　parlour；　and　have　my　breakfast。
  There；　I　found　my　mother；　very　pale　and　with　red　eyes：　into　whose
  arms　I　ran；　and　begged　her　pardon　from　my　suffering　soul。
  ‘Oh；　Davy！’　she　said。　‘That　you　could　hurt　anyone　I　love！　Try　to
  be　better；　pray　to　be　better！　I　forgive　you；　but　I　am　so　grieved；
  Davy；　that　you　should　have　such　bad　passions　in　your　heart。’
  They　had　persuaded　her　that　I　was　a　wicked　fellow；　and　she
  was　more　sorry　for　that　than　for　my　going　away。　I　felt　it　sorely。　I
  tried　to　eat　my　parting　breakfast；　but　my　tears　dropped　upon　my
  bread…and…butter；　and　trickled　into　my　tea。　I　saw　my　mother　look
  at　me　sometimes；　and　then　glance　at　the　watchful　Miss　Murdstone；
  and　than　look　down；　or　look　away。
  ‘Master　Copperfield’s　box　there！’　said　Miss　Murdstone；　when
  wheels　were　heard　at　the　gate。
  I　looked　for　Peggotty；　but　it　was　not　she；　neither　she　nor　Mr。
  Murdstone　appeared。　My　former　acquaintance；　the　carrier；　was　at
  the　door。　the　box　was　taken　out　to　his　cart；　and　lifted　in。　‘Clara！’
  said　Miss　Murdstone；　in　her　warning　note。
  ‘Ready；　my　dear　Jane；’　returned　my　mother。　‘Good…bye；　Davy。
  You　are　going　for　your　own　good。　Good…bye；　my　child。　You　will
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  come　home　in　the　holidays；　and　be　a　better　boy。’
  ‘Clara！’　Miss　Murdstone　repeated。
  ‘Certainly；　my　dear　Jane；’　replied　my　mother；　who　was　holding
  me。　‘I　forgive　you；　my　dear　boy。　God　bless　you！’
  ‘Clara！’　Miss　Murdstone　repeated。
  Miss　Murdstone　was　good　enough　to　take　me　out　to　the　cart；
  and　to　say　on　the　way　that　she　hoped　I　would　repent；　before　I
  came　to　a　bad　end；　and　then　I　got　into　the　cart；　and　the　lazy　horse
  walked　o