on--the good old city is farther on, only
twelve miles; what's that! who'll stay here? onward to the old town.

Hurry skurry, a mixed multitude of men and horses, carts and carriages,
all in the direction of the old town; and, in the midst of all that mad
throng, at a moment when the rain gushes were coming down with particular
fury, and the artillery of the sky was pealing as I had never heard it
peal before, I felt some one seize me by the arm--I turned round and
beheld Mr. Petulengro.

"I can't hear you, Mr. Petulengro," said I; for the thunder drowned the
words which he appeared to be uttering.

"Dearginni," I heard Mr. Petulengro 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 gipsy'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 desi