“It would--unless the real murderer could be unmasked--again throw upon Mrs. Vale the blight of that dark suspicion, again darken the brightness of her life. There might even be people cruel enough to believe that the woman herself had originated the scheme to blacken Francis Murray’s memory. “No, Francis Murray could not risk these disasters even for the sake of returning to his widowed mother’s arms. He must sacrifice her and himself to the good of another--to the woman whose life, so long a martyrdom, had just blossomed into peace and pleasure--Mrs. Vale’s equanimity must not be disturbed. “Francis Murray remained abroad several months. He grew a luxuriant blond beard and long hair. He donned blue glasses, a slouching gait, and careless costume. He returned with Emmett Harlow to his native land; but he came as a stranger--a German student, Professor Doepkin.” It was dramatic--that swelling hum of surprise and delight that followed his words. Over it all rose a wild cry of joy--the outburst of a mother’s heart. Professor Doepkin had been sitting very close to Mrs. Murray--perhaps by design--and he turned very quietly and took her in his arms. The proud, stately woman broke down utterly, and sobbed joyfully: “Frank, Frank, my son!” It was a touch of nature that went home to every heart. Women were sobbing all over the house, and men were moved beyond expression. The prisoner, as much surprised as any one, looked on with a smile like one at a play. He knew now that everything had failed, that his clever game was up, the play played out. Yet he could _smile_! To his bizarre nature, full of paradoxical moods, perhaps it seemed gratifying to know that he had played so well the villain’s part. The confusion in the court-room could not be quelled for some moments, but the old judge, who had tears in his own eyes, was very lenient. At length Mrs. Murray, suddenly becoming conscious that she was the cynosure of all eyes, drew back from her son’s clasp and pulled her veil over her tearful face. Then Francis Murray leaned across her and held out his hand to Italy, who was very pale and quiet. “Have you no word of welcome for me?” he whispered pleadingly. She gave him her hand with a very pensive smile, and said: “I thank Heaven that you are restored to your mother, but I am not surprised. I knew you all the while.” Mrs. Vale interrupted them at this point, and he could not reply. Her mother’s heart was overflowing with gratitude to the man she had so cruelly misjudged. “How can I thank you?” she whispered fervently. “I will tell you some day,” he replied, with a kindly glance at her daughter that told her his whole story. The trial ended the next day, and no one was surprised at the verdict of insanity. The public had confidently expected it, for the story of the padded chamber and Mrs. Smith’s confession of her master’s insanity had been published in all the newspapers.