LITMIR.BIZ

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of words – “bring my mind to it.”

      “Go on, Peggotty,” said I, more frightened than before.

      “Master Davy,” said Peggotty, untying her bonnet with a shaking hand, and speaking in a breathless sort of way. “What do you think? You have got a Pa!”

      I trembled, and turned white. Something – I don’t know what, or how – connected with the grave in the churchyard, and the raising of the dead, seemed to strike me like an unwholesome wind.

      “A new one,” said Peggotty.

      “A new one?” I repeated.

      Peggotty gave a gasp, as if she were swallowing something that was very hard, and, putting out her hand, said:

      “Come and see him.”

      “I don’t want to see him.”

      – “And your mamma,” said Peggotty.

      I ceased to draw back, and we went straight to the best parlor, where she left me. On one side of the fire, sat my mother; on the other, Mr. Murdstone. My mother dropped her work, and arose hurriedly, but timidly I thought.

      “Now, Clara my dear,” said Mr. Murdstone. “Recollect! controul yourself, always controul yourself! Davy boy, how do you do?”

      I gave him my hand. After a moment of suspense, I went and kissed my mother: she kissed me, patted me gently on the shoulder, and sat down again to her work. I could not look at her, I could not look at him, I knew quite well that he was looking at us both; and I turned to the window and looked out there, at some shrubs that were drooping their heads in the cold.

      As soon as I could creep away, I crept up-stairs. My old dear bedroom was changed, and I was to lie a long way off. I rambled down-stairs to find anything that was like itself, so altered it all seemed; and roamed into the yard. I very soon started back from there, for the empty dog-kennel was filled up with a great dog – deep mouthed and black-haired like Him – and he was very angry at the sight of me, and sprung out to get at me.

      CHAPTER IV.

      I FALL INTO DISGRACE

      If the room to which my bed was removed, were a sentient thing that could give evidence, I might appeal to it at this day – who sleeps there now, I wonder! – to bear witness for me what a heavy heart I carried to it. I went up there, hearing the dog in the yard bark after me all the way while I climbed the stairs; and, looking as blank and strange upon the room as the room looked upon me, sat down with my small hands crossed, and thought.

      I thought of the oddest things. Of the shape of the room, of the cracks in the ceiling, of the paper on the wall, of the flaws in the window-glass making ripples and dimples on the prospect, of the washing-stand being ricketty on its three legs, and having a discontented something about it, which reminded me of Mrs. Gummidge under the influence of the old one. I was crying all the time, but, except that I was conscious of being cold and dejected, I am sure I never thought why I cried. At last in my desolation I began to consider that I was dreadfully in love with little Em’ly, and had been torn away from her to come here where no one seemed to want me, or to care about me, half as much as she did. This made such a very miserable piece of business of it, that I rolled myself up in a corner of the counterpane, and cried myself to sleep.

      I was awoke by somebody saying “Here he is!” and uncovering my hot head. My mother and Peggotty had come to look for me, and it was one of them who had done it.

      “Davy,” said my mother. “What’s the matter?”

      I thought it very strange that she should ask me, and answered, “Nothing.” I turned over on my face, I recollect, to hide my trembling lip, which answered her with greater truth.

      “Davy,” said my mother. “Davy, my child!”

      I dare say no words she could have uttered, would have affected me so much, then, as her calling me her child. I hid my tears in the bedclothes, and pressed her from me with my hand, when she would have raised me up.

      “This is your doing, Peggotty, you cruel thing!” said my mother. “I have no doubt at all about it. How can you reconcile it to your conscience, I wonder, to prejudice my own boy against me, or against anybody who is dear to me? What do you mean by it, Peggotty?”

      Poor Peggotty lifted up her hands and eyes, and only answered, in a sort of paraphrase of the grace I usually repeated after dinner, “Lord forgive you, Mrs. Copperfield, and for what you have said this minute, may you never be truly sorry!”

      “It’s enough to distract me,” cried my mother. “In my honeymoon, too, when my most inveterate enemy might relent, one would think, and not envy me a little peace of mind and happiness. Davy, you naughty boy! Peggotty, you savage creature! Oh, dear me!” cried my mother, turning from one of us to the other, in her pettish wilful manner, “what a troublesome world this is, when one has the most right to expect it to be as agreeable as possible!”

      I felt the touch of a hand that I knew was neither her’s nor Peggotty’s, and slipped to my feet at the bed-side. It was Mr. Murdstone’s hand, and he kept it on my arm as he said:

      “What’s this? Clara, my love, have you forgotten? – Firmness, my dear!”

      “I am very sorry, Edward,” said my mother. “I meant to be very good, but I am so uncomfortable.”

      “Indeed!” he answered. “That’s a bad hearing, so soon, Clara.”

      “I say it’s very hard I should be made so now,” returned my mother, pouting; “and it is – very hard – isn’t it?”

      He drew her to him, whispered in her ear, and kissed her. I knew as well, when I saw my mother’s head lean down upon his shoulder, and her arm touch his neck – I knew as well that he could mould her pliant nature into any form he chose, as I know, now, that he did it.

      “Go you below, my love,” said Mr. Murdstone. “David and I will come down, together. My friend,” turning a darkening face on Peggotty, when he had watched my mother out, and dismissed her with a nod and a smile: “do you know your mistress’s name?”

      “She has been my mistress a long time, sir,” answered Peggotty. “I ought to it.”

      “That’s true,” he answered. “But I thought I heard you, as I came up-stairs, address her by a name that is not hers. She has taken mine, you know. Will you remember that?”

      Peggotty, with some uneasy glances at me, curtseyed herself out of the room without replying; seeing, I suppose, that she was expected to go, and had no excuse for remaining. When we two were left alone, he shut the door, and sitting on a chair, and holding me standing before him, looked steadily into my eyes. I felt my own attracted, no less steadily, to his. As I recall our being opposed thus, face to face, I seem again to hear my heart beat fast and high.

      “David,” he said, making his lips thin, by pressing them together, “if I have an obstinate horse or dog to deal with, what do you think I do?”

      “I don’t know.”

      “I beat him.”

      I had answered in a kind of breathless whisper, but I felt, in my silence, that my breath was shorter now.

      “I make him wince, and smart. I say to myself, ‘I’ll conquer that fellow;’ and if it were to cost him all the blood he had, I should do it. What is that upon your face?”

      “Dirt,” I said.

      He knew it was the mark of tears as well as I. But if he had asked the question twenty times, each time with twenty blows, I believe my baby heart would have burst before I would have told him so.

      “You have a good deal of intelligence for a little fellow,” he said, with a grave smile that belonged to him, “and you understood me very well, I see. Wash that face, sir, and come down with me.”

      He pointed to the washing-stand, which I had made out to be like Mrs. Gummidge, and motioned me with his head to obey him directly. I had little doubt then, and I have less doubt now, that he would have knocked

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