Very sad, very strange was that meeting. The mother could not be made to comprehend that this noble-looking girl who held her in her arms, and sustained her feeble steps, was verily the child she had been robbed of years ago. Her darling was to her mind still an infant. If they had placed some feeble, wailing babe in her arms and called it hers, she would have believed them, and hugged the impostor to her breast and been happy; but she did not believe in Justina. ‘You are very kind to come,’ she said, gently, ‘and I like you; but it is foolish of them to say you are my child. I am a little wrong in my head, I know, but not so foolish as to believe that.’ On one occasion she was suddenly struck by Justina’s likeness to her father. ‘You are like George,’ she said. ‘Are you his sister?’ Martin brought a famous doctor from Cavendish Square, one of the kindest of men, to see Muriel. He talked to her for some time, inquired into the history of her malady, and considered her attentively. His verdict was that her case was hopeless. ‘I do not fear that her case will ever be otherwise than gentle,’ he said, ‘nor do I recommend any more restraint than she has been accustomed to, but I have no hope of cure. The shock which broke her heart shattered her mind for ever.’ Justina heard this with deepest sorrow. All that filial love could offer to this gentle sufferer she freely gave, devoting her days to her mother, while her nights were given to the public. None could have guessed how the brilliant actress—all sparkle and vivacity, living in the character her art had created—spent the quiet hours of her daily life. But she had Maurice always near her, and his presence brightened every hour of her life. He had laid his case before his lawyers, and even the cautious family solicitor had been compelled to own that it was not altogether a bad case. What was his astonishment, however, when, three days later, he was told that Messrs. Pergament and Pergament had met his solicitors, examined documents, discussed the merits of the case, and finally pronounced their client’s willingness to surrender the estate, in its entirety, without litigation. ‘But I told Mr. Penwyn of his cousin’s willingness to accept a compromise, to take half the value of the estate, and leave him in possession of the land,’ said Maurice. ‘Mr. Penwyn elects to surrender the estate altogether. An eccentric gentleman, evidently.’ ‘Then the whole business is settled; there will be no law suit.’ ‘Apparently not,’ said the solicitor, drily. Lawyers could hardly live if people were in the habit of surrendering their possessions so quickly. Maurice called on Messrs. Pergament and Pergament, and explained to the head of that firm that the young lady for whom he was acting had no desire to exact her full claim under Squire Penwyn’s will, that she would prefer a compromise to depriving Mr. Penwyn and his wife of house and home.