etulengro say, "it thundereth. I was asking,
brother, whether you believe in dukkeripens?"

"I do not, Mr. Petulengro; but this is strange weather to be asking me
whether I believe in fortunes."

"Grondinni," said Mr. Petulengro, "it haileth. I believe in dukkeripens,
brother."

"And who has more right," said I, "seeing that you live by them? But
this tempest is truly horrible."

"Dearginni, grondinni ta villaminni! It thundereth, it haileth, and also
flameth," said Mr. Petulengro. "Look up there, brother!"

I looked up. Connected with this tempest there was one feature to which
I have already alluded--the wonderful colours of the clouds. Some were
of vivid green; others of the brightest orange; others as black as pitch.
The gypsy's finger was pointed to a particular part of the sky.

"What do you see there, brother?"

"A strange kind of cloud."

"What does it look like, brother?"

"Something like a stream of blood."

"That cloud foreshoweth a bloody dukkeripen."

"A bloody fortune!" said I. "And whom may it betide?"

"Who knows!" said the gypsy.

Down the way, dashing and splashing and scattering man, horse and cart to
the left and right, came an open barouche, drawn by four smoking steeds,
with postillions in scarlet jackets, and leather skull-caps. Two forms
were conspicuous in it; that of the successful bruiser and of his friend
and backer, the sporting gentleman of my acquaintance.

"His!" said the gypsy, pointing to the latter, whose stern features wore
a smile of triumph, as, probably recognising me in the crowd, he nodded
in the direction of where I stood, as the barouche hurried by.

There went the barouche, dashing through the rain gushes, and in it one
whose boast it was that he was equal to "either fortune". Many have
heard of that man--many may be desirous of knowing yet more of him. I
have nothing to do with that man's after-life--he fulfilled his
dukkeripen. "A bad, violent man!" Softly friend; when thou wouldst
speak harshly of the dead, remember that thou hast not yet fulfilled thy
own dukkeripen!

CHAPTER XXVII.

My father, as I have already informed the reader, had been endowed by
nature with great corporeal strength; indeed, I have been assured that,
at the period of his prime, his figure had denoted the possession of
almost Herculean powers. The strongest forms, however, do not always
endure the longest, the very excess of the noble and generous juices
which