"One of your friends, Matilda, I suppose?"
said Mrs. Brownlow Smith.

"Not mine, mama! I never saw him that
I remember. But I recollect his name; he
wants a wife, they say, very badly. He
proposed to Emily Brown, to Eliza Parsons, to
Alice Taylor, to Bertha Jones, to Georgina
Walker—to I don't know how many!"

"What brings him here, I wonder? Hush!
he is coming!"

And, with his reputation gone before to
clear the way, Gabriel Badger entered the
room. It was dusk, as I have already said,
and Mrs. Brownlow Smith could only discern
the outline of a somewhat sturdy figure; his
features were quite invisible.

There was a moment of awkward silence.
Gabriel was embarrassed. The darkness was
in his favour, but still he was without his
veil. At last, after one or two preliminary
efforts, he cleared his throat, and began:—

"I hope," he said, "though my name may
not be familiar to you, Mrs. Brownlow Smith,
that I am not altogether a stranger."

"Pardon me, sir," replied the lady, "your
name is better known to me than your
person."

"In that case," returned Gabriel, "the
difficulty under which I labour is diminished.
I had the pleasure, this morning, of sending
my card that is to say—my—my—my—
likeness—according to promise!"

He had managed to blurt it out. His
secret was revealed. The Veiled Prophet
and Gabriel Badger were one and the same
individual.

"Matilda, my love!" said Mrs. Brownlow
Smith.

The young lady took the hint; she rose,
glad to escape.

"No! madam, no!" cried Gabriel. "Let
me entreat your daughter to remain!"

"Impossible, sir, under existing
circumstances. Consider her feelings. Mr. Badger,
now my daughter is gone, let us be candid
with each other. You stated, last night, that
your intentions were serious."

"Perfectly so, madam," returned Gabriel,
all of a flutter, and beginning to think his
shattered bark was getting into port at last.

"Five thousand pounds, I think, was the
sum you named?"

"I will write a cheque for it this instant."

"To be settled on Matilda when she
consents to marry a certain person whose—"

"Whose initials are G.B.," interposed
Gabriel, hastily. "The picture was only
sent—"

"I understand," said Mrs. Brownlow
Smith, interrupting in her turn, "you oriental
gentlemen always act by proxy."

"Wasn't it a famous notion, my dear Mrs.
Brownlow Smith?" exclaimed Gabriel, quite
beside himself with rapture. "I first thought
of it—" He paused. "Was that," he said
to himself, "a ring at the street-door bell?
Some cursed visitor! They surely won't let
him in? Yes! Thank heaven, though, he
has gone up-stairs!"

While he was thus soliloquising, Mrs.
Brownlow Smith was enacting the part of a
prudent mother. She lit a taper, and,
playfully pointing to an open sécrétaire, said with
a smile:—

"What should you say now, Mr.—a—a—
Badger, if I were to take you at your word
about that cheque, you know?"

"With all my heart, my dear madam. Be
so good as to prepare a form."

Mrs. Brownlow Smith's pen traversed the
paper like lightning.

"You draw on—?"

"The Bank of England." With an eagerness
which, perhaps, was never paralleled
before under similar circumstances, Gabriel
Badger signed the cheque.

"Generous man!" cried Mrs. Brownlow
Smith. "How shall I thank you for securing
my daughter's happiness? But she is here
to do so herself."

The door flew open as she spoke.

"Not now! Not now, George!" exclaimed
Miss Matilda Smith. "Mama is not alone.
Mr. Gabriel Badger is with her."

"I am glad of it," said Brackley, who was
the visitor that had just gone up-stairs.
"Badger is the greatest friend I have in the
world. Matilda," he continued, addressing
Mrs. Brownlow Smith, "Matilda has told me
all. You give your consent?"

"Freely, my dear George, and with it this—
a trifle to begin housekeeping with, from
your munificent friend."

With these words, she put the cheque for
five thousand pounds in Brackley's hand.

"God bless my soul!" ejaculated Gabriel
Badger, staggering against the chimney-
piece. "What's all this about? George
Brackley! Matilda! My cheque! There
must be some mistake!"

"No, my dear sir," said Mrs. Brownlow
Smith; "I assure you it is correctly drawn.
Of course, where so large an amount was
concerned, I did not merely put his initials,
but wrote his name in full."

"His name, madam!" shrieked Gabriel.
"Whose name?"

"George Brackley's, of course!" replied
Mrs. Brownlow Smith. "I perfectly
understood your intentions."

"Noble-minded man!" exclaimed Brackley
and Matilda, both in one breath.

Gabriel Badger, with his eyes fixed on
the loving couple, remained silent for more
than a minute. When, at length, he spoke,
his tones were husky:—

"For the sixth and last time," he
muttered. "Never will I attempt it again!
Give me your hand, George. There!"
He placed it in Matilda's. "May you be
happy," he said to her; "but, just by way
of consolation, tell me—you don't altogether
agree with Emily Brown—you don't think
me perfectly hideous?"