"
Mark was never given an opportunity of proving the excellence of his
methods by the excellence of Cyril's life, because on the morning after
this conversation, which took place one wet Sunday evening in Advent he
was sent for by his uncle, who demanded to know the meaning of This.
This was a letter from the Reverend Eustace Pomeroy.
The Limes,
38, Cranborne Road,
Slowbridge.
December 9.
Dear Mr. Lidderdale,
My son Cyril will not attend school for the rest of this term.
Yesterday evening, being confined to the house by fever, I went up
to his bedroom to verify a reference in a book I had recently lent
him to assist his divinity studies under you. When I took down the
book from the shelf I noticed several books hidden away behind, and
my curiosity being aroused I examined them, in case they should be
works of an unpleasant nature. To my horror and disgust, I found
that they were all works of an extremely Popish character, most of
them belonging to a clergyman in this neighbourhood called Ogilvie,
whose illegal practices have for several years been a scandal to
this diocese. These I am sending to the Bishop that he may see with
his own eyes the kind of propaganda that is going on.
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