Ernest knew
him in a moment as John, his father's old coachman at Battersby, and went
up to him at once.
"Why, Master Ernest," said he, with his strong northern accent, "I was
thinking of you only this very morning," and the pair shook hands
heartily. John was in an excellent place at the West End. He had done
very well, he said, ever since he had left Battersby, except for the
first year or two, and that, he said, with a screw of the face, had well
nigh broke him.
Ernest asked how this was.
"Why, you see," said John, "I was always main fond of that lass Ellen,
whom you remember running after, Master Ernest, and giving your watch to.
I expect you haven't forgotten that day, have you?" And here he laughed.
"I don't know as I be the father of the child she carried away with her
from Battersby, but I very easily may have been. Anyhow, after I had
left your papa's place a few days I wrote to Ellen to an address we had
agreed upon, and told her I would do what I ought to do, and so I did,
for I married her within a month afterwards. Why, Lord love the man,
whatever is the matter with him?"--for as he had spoken the last few
words of his story Ernest had turned white as a sheet, and was leaning
against the railings.
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