"Well, I have," said Ernest, with a forced laugh, "I came out three or
four days ago after six months with hard labour."

Ellen did not believe him, but she looked at him with a "Lor'! Master
Ernest," and dried her eyes at once. The ice was broken between them,
for as a matter of fact Ellen had been in prison several times, and
though she did not believe Ernest, his merely saying he had been in
prison made her feel more at ease with him. For her there were two
classes of people, those who had been in prison and those who had not.
The first she looked upon as fellow-creatures and more or less
Christians, the second, with few exceptions, she regarded with suspicion,
not wholly unmingled with contempt.

Then Ernest told her what had happened to him during the last six months,
and by-and-by she believed him.

"Master Ernest," said she, after they had talked for a quarter of an hour
or so, "There's a place over the way where they sell tripe and onions. I
know you was always very fond of tripe and onions, let's go over and have
some, and we can talk better there."

So the pair crossed the street and entered the tripe shop; Ernest ordered
supper.

"And how is your pore dear mamma, and your dear papa, Master Ernest,"
said Ellen, who had now recovered herself and was quite at home with my
hero. "Oh, dear, dear me," she said, "I did love your pa; he was a good
gentleman, he was, and your ma too; it would do anyone good to live with
her, I'm sure."

Ernest was surprised and hardly knew what to say. He had expected to
find Ellen indignant at the way she had been treated, and inclined to lay
the blame of her having fallen to her present state at his father's and
mother's door. It was not so. Her only recollection of Battersby was as
of a place where she had had plenty to eat and drink, not too much hard
work, and where she had not been scolded. When she heard that Ernest had
quarrelled with his father and mother she assumed as a matter of course
that the fault must lie entirely with Ernest.

"Oh, your pore, pore ma!" said Ellen. "She was always so very fond of
you, Master Ernest: you was always her favourite; I can't abear to think
of anything between you and her. To think now of the way she used to
have me into the dining-room and teach me my catechism, that she did! Oh,
Master Ernest, you really must go and make it all up with her; indeed you
must."

Ernest felt rueful, but he had resisted so valiantly already