Now, whether it be from some unperceived association in the minds of the English people between the chimerical gentleman we have lately mentioned and the patron saint of this island, who, it seems, if all tales were told, was not a bit better than the dragon that he slew; or for what other reason I know not, yet there is no doubt of the fact, that in all ages English vintners have had a particular predilection for green dragons; and that name was so commonly attached to a public-house, in those days, that it had not at all struck Wilton Brown that the Green Dragon to which Lord Sherbrooke ordered the horses to be led, was that very identical Green Dragon where his acquaintance Mr. Green had given him the rendezvous.

He might not, indeed, have heard Lord Sherbrooke’s order at all; but it is still more probable, that he only did not attend to it, as all his thoughts were taken up at the moment by the discovery of what place Lord Sherbrooke had brought him to.  It now, however, struck him—­when he saw the Green Dragon standing in the Green Lane, precisely as it had been described by Green—­that it might very likely be the identical house to which he had been directed; and on asking Lord Sherbrooke what was the name of the mansion they had just visited, the matter was placed beyond doubt by his replying, “Beaufort House.  The Duke only hires it for a time.”

Brown hesitated now for an instant, as to how he should act.  His watch told him that it was close upon the hour to the appointment:  curiosity raised her voice:  the natural longing after kindred had also its influence; and if the society of Lord Sherbrooke was any impediment, that was instantly removed by the young nobleman saying, “Come, Wilton, as you are an unsociable devil, and seem out of temper, I shall leave you to ride home by yourself—­The truth is,” he added, after a moment’s pause, “I am going upon an expedition, that the character I have given myself to my fair Lady Laura may be fully and completely established on the day that it is given.”.

“Nay, Sherbrooke, nay!” cried Wilton—­“I hope and trust such is not the case.”

The other only laughed, and called loudly for his servants and horses.

Well disciplined to his prompt and fiery disposition, his grooms led the horses out in a moment, and the young nobleman sprang into the saddle.  Before his right foot was in the stirrup, he had touched the horse with the spur, and away he went like lightning, waving his hand to Wilton with a light laugh.

Wilton’s horses and groom had appeared also, but he paused before the door without mounting; and the next moment, a fat, well-looking host, as round, as well fed, and as rosy, as beef, beer, and good spirits, ever made the old English innkeeper, appeared at the door in his white night-cap and apron, and approaching the young gentleman, invited him in with what seemed a meaning look.

“Perhaps I may come in,” replied Wilton, “and taste your good ale, landlord.”