direction he told the
cabman to drive. Thus, unaware of his high destiny, Ripton joined the
hero, and accepted his character in the New Comedy.

It is, nevertheless, true that certain favoured people do have
beneficent omens to prepare them for their parts when the hero is in
full career, so that they really may be nerved to meet him; ay, and to
check him in his course, had they that signal courage. For instance,
Mrs. Elizabeth Berry, a ripe and wholesome landlady of advertised
lodgings, on the borders of Kensington, noted, as she sat rocking her
contemplative person before the parlour fire this very March afternoon,
a supernatural tendency in that fire to burn all on one side: which
signifies that a wedding approaches the house. Why--who shall say? Omens
are as impassable as heroes. It may be because in these affairs the fire
is thought to be all on one side. Enough that the omen exists, and spoke
its solemn warning to the devout woman. Mrs. Berry, in her circle, was
known as a certificated lecturer against the snares of matrimony.
Still that was no reason why she should not like a wedding. Expectant,
therefore, she watched the one glowing cheek of Hymen, and with pleasing
tremours beheld a cab of many boxes draw up by her bit of garden, and
a gentleman emerge from it in the set of consulting an advertisement
paper. The gentleman required lodgings for a lady. Lodgings for a lady
Mrs. Berry could produce, and a very roseate smile for a gentleman;
so much so that Ripton forgot to ask about the terms, which made the
landlady in Mrs. Berry leap up to embrace him as the happy man. But her
experienced woman's eye checked her enthusiasm. He had not the air of a
bridegroom: he did not seem to have a weight on his chest, or an itch
to twiddle everything with his fingers. At any rate, he was not the
bridegroom for whom omens fly abroad. Promising to have all ready
for the lady within an hour, Mrs. Berry fortified him with her card,
curtsied him back to his cab, and floated him off on her smiles.

The remarkable vehicle which had woven this thread of intrigue through
London streets, now proceeded sedately to finish its operations. Ripton
was landed at a hotel in Westminster. Ere he was halfway up the stairs,
a door opened, and his old comrade in adventure rushed down. Richard
allowed no time for salutations. "Have you done it?" was all he asked.
For answer Ripton handed him Mrs. Berry's card. Richard took it, and
left him standi