"Quite true, Miss Russell," replied Fellows; "and I suppose it must be put down as a man’s weakness." "Still, if a weakness, not one that is, or should be regarded as, wholly incurable." "Yet ’What will Mrs. Grundy say?’ is an influence quite as strong in operating upon men as upon women." "What a misfortune! It seems a sad admission to have to make." "It is, however, unfortunately too true, since the opinions which others form of us enter very largely into the rule of conduct regulating our daily life. It is seldom until old age begins to overtake us, that men assume that independence of the world’s frowns and sneers which alone enables them to act and speak upon sound principles, regardless of consequences." The time had passed so pleasantly and rapidly that they were not a little surprised to find it was long past the usual hour for retiring. After a hasty "Good-night," Fellows went home, well pleased with what he had seen and heard, and more than ever determined to make an opportunity, at no distant date, for a confidential talk with Jessie Russell. *CHAPTER XXII.* *"DEAD, BUT IS ALIVE AGAIN."* "Alive again? then show me where he is." _Henry VI._, Part II. Act III. sc. iii. Mrs. Sinclair had been slowly, yet gradually, recovering from the long illness which had followed upon the news of her son’s death, and the terrible revelations with respect to his conduct preceding. The habits of her small household had of late been considerably disarranged, so that since her illness she had become accustomed to having her morning meal served in her bedroom. As the season advanced, her indisposition to struggle against the growing love for this indulgence became more marked, until it had almost become a recognised habit which it would have been difficult to overcome. Autumn tints had already begun to tinge with their brilliant hues the lovely summer foliage, which the rough winds were rapidly stripping from twigs and branches, exposing them to all the effects of dews and damps, the chills and frosts of northern skies. It was a chill October morning, and the sun had not yet attained sufficient power to dispel the mist which hung over the face of nature, as the result of the heavy dew which had fallen. Jennie, after visiting her mother as usual, had descended to see that her breakfast was sent upstairs at the accustomed hour. A letter addressed to her mother was lying on the table in the hall, which she was surprised to find bore the Canadian postmark. The handwriting did not suggest the writer, so, curbing her curiosity, and carrying it with her, she placed it upon the tray which the maid was already waiting to take up to Mrs. Sinclair’s room. Ten minutes had scarcely elapsed when her mother’s bell was rung so violently that Jennie determined to answer it herself. On entering her bedroom she saw that her mother had fainted.