He beat me then, as if he would have beaten me to death. Above all the noise we made, I heard them running up the stairs, and crying out—I heard my mother crying out—and Peggotty. Then he was gone; and the door was locked outside; and I was lying, torn and sore and raging, upon the floor.
How well I recollect, when I became quiet, what an unnatural stillness seemed to reign through the whole house! How well I remember, when my smart and passion began to cool, how wicked I began to feel!
I sat listening for a long while, but there was not a sound. I crawled up from the floor, and saw my face in the glass, so swollen, red, and ugly that it almost frightened me. My stripes were sore and stiff, and made me cry afresh, when I moved; but they were nothing to the guilt I felt. It lay like lead upon my breast.
For five days I was imprisoned thus within my room, seeing no one except Miss Murdstone, who came to bring me food. They live like years in my remembrance. On the fifth night I heard my name softly whispered 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, her room being close by.
"How's mamma, 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."