Hope laid violent hands upon young O'More for the evening school
twice a week, which almost equally discomposed his aunt. She had
never got over the first blow of Mr. Dusautoy's innovations, and felt
as if her nephew had gone over to the enemy. She was doubly
ungracious at the Sunday dinner, and venomously critical of the
choir's chanting, Mr. Hope's voice, and the Vicar's sermons.
The worst scrape came in March. The Willow Lawn ladies were in the
lower end of the garden, which, towards the river, was separated from
the lane that continued Tibb's Alley, by a low wall surmounted by
spikes, and with a disused wicket, always locked, and nearly
concealed by a growth of laurels; when out brake a horrible
hullabaloo in that region of evil report, the shouts and yells coming
nearer, and becoming so distinct that they were about to retreat,
when suddenly a dark figure leapt over the gate, and into the garden,
amid a storm of outcries. As he disappeared among the laurels,
Albinia caught up Maurice, Lucy screamed and prepared to fly, and
Sophy started forward, exclaiming, 'It is Ulick, mamma; his face is
bleeding!' But as he emerged, she retreated, for she had a nervous
terror of the canine race, and in his hand, at arm's length he held
by the neck a yellow dog, a black pot dangling from its tail.
'Take care,' he shouted, as Albinia set down Maurice, and was running
up to him; 'he may be mad.
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