like the man and woman in the toy weather-house, mr. schr?der's two houses never were "to the fore" at the same time. when the one was lighted, the other was gloomy; when the one was tenanted, the other was empty; when the one was decorated, the other was comfortless. as the second breath of summer came floating over kensington gardens, after the may- and apple-blossoms had disappeared, but long before dust and drouth had settled down on the greensward and the umbrageous walks of the parks; when there was evinced among young men a perpetual desire to dine at the star-and-garter at richmond, and an undying hatred of passing the sunday within the metropolis; when mr. quartermaine began to wonder where he should stow all his visitors, and mr. skindle of the orkney arms began to think of building; when fashionable people thought it no more harm to sit in their carriages outside grange's, than to call diamonds 'dimonds,' or ribbon 'ribbin;' when the sunday-afternoon attendance at the zoological gardens began to exceed the week-day; when green-peas began to have some taste, and asparagus to be something else beside stalk and stick,--then the glory of the saxe-coburg-square establishment showed strong symptoms of waning. the usual amount of solemn dinner-party had been gone through; every body necessary had been asked to balls, music, and conversazioni; mrs. schr?der's taste and mr. schr?der's wealth had been exhibited constantly at the opera and at some of the most fashionable gatherings in london; and one, if not both, of them longed for a little quiet. this resulted in the renting of uplands, when blank misery fell upon the establishment in saxe-coburg square. all the ornaments and nicknacks were removed and put away; the chandeliers were shrouded in big holland bags; the shutters were put up; and the spurious schr?der ancestors scowled dimly from the wall over a great desert of dining-table, no longer shining with snowy damask or sparkling silver and glass. the staff of servants,--the french cook and the italian confectioner; the ponderous butler, so frequently mistaken by mrs. schr?der's west-end friends for a city magnate; the solemn footman, large-whiskered, large-calved, ambrosial, and most offensive; the lady's-maid and the buttons,--all, down to the kitchen-maid, who lived in a perpetual state of grease and dripping, and who was preparing herself for "plain cook, good," in the times column of 'want places,'--all went away into what the said kitchen-maid was heard to designate "that rubbiging country;" and an old woman, weird, puffy, dusty, with old black silk stitched about her head where her hair should have been, and with bits of beard sticking on her chin, came and took up her abode in the housekeeper's room and "kep' 'ouse" herself.

but when october was well set in, and the days grew short, and the showers not unfrequent; when, even if there were no showers, the heavy mists of morn and dews of night left the ground moist and dank and plappy; when weird night-winds rose and sighed banshee-like over the hushed fields; when the lawn lost its soft verdure and grew brown and corrugated; when the trees, which during the summer had so picturesquely fringed the lawn and framed the distance, now gaunt and dismal, swayed mournfully to and fro, drearily rattling their stripped limbs,--then a general inclination to return back to the comfort of london began to be manifested by all the inhabitants of uplands. it was all very pleasant when mr. schr?der had spun his chestnuts up the leafy lanes, or over the breezy hills, in the summer; but it was a very different thing when he had to come the same road from town in a close carriage, with the rain pattering against the windows, and with no gas for the last three miles of the journey. it was dull work for mrs. schr?der and whatever female companion she might happen to have, with nothing to do but yawn over novels, or listlessly thrum the piano, or watch the gardeners filling their high barrows with dead leaves and unceasingly sweeping the lawns and paths. she could have relieved her tedium by a little shopping, she thought; but there were no shops--at least what she called shops--within miles of uplands. as to the servants, they all hated the place; there were no military for the females, and the policemen were all mounted patrols, who "just looked round at night on 'orseback, and never had no time for a gossip, or a bit of supper, or anythink friendly;" while the male domestics were removed from their clubs and all the other delights which a town-life afforded. so, to the great joy of all, the word was given to march; and the whole establishment descended on saxe-coburg square leaving uplands to the care of the scotch gardener, who removed his wife and family up from one of the lodges, and encamped in the kitchen and adjacent rooms.

mrs. schr?der was by no means ill-pleased at the return to town. the moving gave her no trouble; she had merely to walk into her rooms and find every thing arranged for her; and she was in hopes that a salutary change would be effected in at least one arrangement which was beginning to worry her. the truth is, that during the last week of their stay at uplands it had begun to dawn upon mrs. schr?der that charles beresford's attentions were not what they should be. she had more than once endeavoured to think out the subject; but her intellects were none of the brightest, and she got frightened, and either began to cry, or let every thing go by the board in the grand certainty that "it would be all right in the end." but of late she had felt the necessity of taking some steps to bring the acquaintance between her and her admirer to some proper footing. this had not come on her entirely of her own accord. she had noticed that her husband (whose attentions to her increased day by day from the time when his heart seemed to soften so suddenly and so strangely towards her) seemed to regard the presence of the commissioner with obvious impatience. mr. schr?der never, indeed, said any thing to his wife on the subject; but he evidently chafed when beresford was in the house: and if mrs. schr?der and beresford were at all thrown together apart from the general company, they were sure to see mr. schr?der's eyes fixed upon them. others of her friends had not been so reticent. captain lyster had hinted once or twice, what barbara churchill had several times roundly spoken out--that beresford was a vaurien, whose attentions were compromising to any married woman; and that if he had the smallest spark of gentlemanly feeling in him, he would desist from paying them. so mrs. schr?der, who was nothing but a very silly weak little woman (there are few women who are really bad, even among those who have erred: the messalinas and the lady macbeths are very exceptional cases), and who really had a sincere affection for her husband, had made up her mind that she was behaving badly, and had determined to break gradually, but uncompromisingly, with mr. beresford and his attentions. she had been so completely hoodwinked by the fraternal relations which, at mr. simnel's suggestion, the commissioner had cultivated, that it was not until immediately previous to their quitting uplands that she saw the danger she had been running, and felt horribly incensed with mr. beresford for his part in the affair.

they had been back for some days in saxe-coburg square, and alice schr?der was nestling in her easy-chair after luncheon, wondering when the opportunity would occur in which she could plainly point out to mr. beresford that he must altogether alter his conduct for the future, when mrs. churchill was announced, and barbara entered the room.

she was very pale, walked very erect, and held out her two hands to alice as she advanced.

"why, barbara! barbara darling!" said impulsive little alice, "i'm so delighted to--why, what's the matter, dear? how strange and odd you look!"

"i want you to have me here for a few days, alice, if you will."

"why, of course, dear! i'm so glad you've come at last; it wasn't for the want of asking, you know. and mr. churchill will be here to dinner, dear, at seven, eh?"

"mr. churchill will not come at all, alice," said barbara very gravely. "i am here alone."

"but he knows you've come here, doesn't he?"

"you don't understand me yet, alice. i have left my husband."

"left your husband! oh, barbara, how dreadful! how could you!" and alice schr?der's face exhibited such signs of unmistakable terror, that for the first time the magnitude of the step she had taken, and the apparent impossibility of its recall, seemed to flash upon barbara. a rush of tears blinded her eyes; and she held out her hands appealingly, as she said, "you--you don't shrink from me, alice?"

astonishment, nothing more, had caused mrs. schr?der's trepidation; in an instant she had rushed forward and wound her arms round barbara's neck, saying, "shrink from you, my darling? why, what madness to suppose such a thing! where should you come but to my house, in such a case? besides, it's nothing, darling, i suspect, but a temporary little foolish quarrel. mr. churchill will be here to dinner, and take you home with him afterwards."

but barbara shook her head and burst into tears, saying that it was a matter which admitted of no compromise and no amicable settlement. and then, between floods of crying, she told alice the outline of the quarrel; dwelling specially upon frank's refusal to give up the letter he had received, or to say who was his correspondent. alice seemed deeply impressed with the atrocity of frank's conduct, though she doubted whether she herself would have had the courage to take such a decided step as leaving her home ("you always said i was wanting in spirit, barbara; and indeed i should not have known where to go to"). she recollected barbara's having been upset at a letter which had come to frank at bissett, before they were engaged; and she was full of "o my's!" and general wonderment, as to who could have written both these mysterious epistles.

"very odd," she said--"very odd, and very unpleasant. you're sure it was a woman's hand, dear? people do make such mistakes about that sometimes. most dreadful, indeed! well, that's one blessing, i've often thought, with gustav, and is some compensation for his grayness and his being so much older, and that sort of thing. for grayness is better than jealousy, isn't it, dear? and i'm sure it's pleasanter to think of your husband at whist than waltzing, as some of them do--whirling about the room as though there were no such thing as the marriage service and letters too, that's awful! i'm so glad you came here, barbara darling; and so will gustav be, when he comes in. we must tell him all about it. i tell him every thing now, he is so kind."

he was very kind, this heavy-headed elderly german merchant. when he came in, his wife at once told him what had occurred; and when he met barbara in the drawing-room, before dinner, he took her hands in both of his, and pressed his lips gravely on her forehead, and bade her welcome, and told her to consider his house as her home. for mr. schr?der had, in his strange old-fashioned way, a very keen sense of honour and of the respect due to women; and he felt, from the story that had been told to him, that barbara's feelings had to a certain extent been outraged. he had never held much good opinion of the literary craft: he could not understand a calling which did not employ clerks and keep ledgers and day-books, which did not minister to any absolute requirement, and which only represented something visionary and fanciful. he shared in a very widespread notion that the morale of people engaged in that and similar pursuits was specially liable to deterioration; and he took what he understood to be frank churchill's defection from the paths of propriety as an indorsement of his idea, and a proof that he had been right in its adoption. he happened to let fall some remark to this effect, a few words only, and not strongly or savagely put, but they had immense weight with barbara churchill.

for they immediately recalled to her recollection her several interviews with her aunt, miss lexden, when she first announced the engagement with frank, and she remembered the acrimony with which the old lady had spoken of the class to which her intended husband belonged. the very words her aunt had used were ringing in her ears. "if i were to see you with broken health, with broken spirits, ill-used, deserted--as is likely enough, for i know these people,--i would not lift one finger to help you after your degradation of me!" "for i know these people!" too well she knew them, it appears, when she predicated what had actually occurred. not deserted, though; that at least could never be cast in her teeth. it was she who had taken the initiative:--she who had broken the bonds and--what could the world say to that? would it not denounce her conduct as strange, unwomanly, and unwifelike? and if it did, what did she care? her pride, her spirit, had often been spoken of; and she felt in no way ashamed of having permitted herself to be swayed by them in this great trial of her life. there must be many who would thoroughly understand her conduct, and sympathise with her; and even if there were none, she had the courage and the determination to stand alone. that she must to a great extent have right on her side--that what she had done could not be looked upon as extravagant or unjustifiable--was proved, she argued to herself, by the kind reception she had met with at the hands of mr. schr?der, a man who, as she judged from all she had heard and seen of him; would not be likely lightly to pass over any breach of decorum. how or where the rest of her life was to be passed engrossed very little of her attention at first. she knew that there was no chance of reconciliation with her aunt; nor did she wish it. she had quarrelled with her husband, certainly, and would never be induced to live with him again; but her cheek flushed when she remembered what insults had been heaped upon frank by her aunt; and she thought almost tenderly of him as she decided that after these insults nothing would induce her to humiliate herself to miss lexden's caprices. the thought of writing to sir marmaduke wentworth crossed her mind; but alice schr?der had told her that sir marmaduke was laid up with a dangerous illness in the pyrenees; it would be very inopportune to worry him, then, with domestic dissensions; and moreover barbara was in very great doubt as to whether the old gentleman, were he able, would not take an active part in promoting a peace, and whether he would not strongly disapprove of, and openly condemn, the course she had taken. he had a very high opinion of frank churchill, who was his godson; and unless it could be distinctly proved that he had committed himself--unless it could be distinctly proved--could it? what proof was there? had not her pride and spirit involved her in a snare? how could she make her case good before an unbiassed judge? there was the letter, and the letter in the same handwriting which he had received at bissett; but she had no actual proofs that they were not such as should have been sent to any properly-conducted man. great heaven, if she had been too precipitate! if she had brought about an exposé by rashness and wretched jealousy; if she had wrongly suspected that kind and generous soul, and cruelly stabbed him without hearing his defence! as barbara turned these matters in her mind, sitting in her bedroom on the first night of her arrival in saxe-coburg square, she felt the whole current of her being setting towards frank; and she covered with her tears and kisses his miniature which hung in a locket at her watch-chain. must this be the end of it? could her fatal folly--if folly it were--darken the rest of her life? oh, no! she could never acknowledge her error,--that would be impossible; her pride would never permit her to take the first steps towards a reconciliation: but frank would come--she knew it; he would come and ask her to return; and she would go; and the rest of their life should be unclouded happiness.

but frank did not come; and the next morning when barbara found the hours wearing very slowly by, and no solution of her wretchedness arrived at; when little alice schr?der's well-meant chatter --well-meant, intended to be consolatory, but still chatter after all--had utterly failed in giving the smallest consolation; when captain lyster had called, and having been properly prepared by mrs. schr?der before he saw barbara, had evidently the greatest difficulty in assuming ignorance and unconcern; when the day had worn on, and no progress had been made by her in any one way,--the bitter spirit rose in her more strongly than ever, and she felt more and more impressed as to the righteousness of her cause. the fact that frank had not come to her, crying "peccavi," and imploring her to return, had, to a very great extent, convinced her that he must have been grievously in the wrong. fully prepared not merely to forgive him what he had not done, but to be generous enough to meet him half way in an advance which ought to have been made by her alone, she was annoyed beyond description at his making no sign; and each hour that passed over her head strengthened her obstinacy and deepened her misery.

so several days went by. barbara resolutely refused to go out; nothing could induce her to be seen in public, and none were admitted to the house save the intimate male friends of the family. barbara stipulated, at once, that no women should be let in, and alice, who believed in the most marvellous degree in barbara, agreed to it. she did, indeed, suggest one female name, the name of a lady in whom she was sure, she said, barbara would find great comfort; but barbara, who had some acquaintance with the person in question, hissed out, "cat!" with such ferocity, that little alice never dared again to open the question. the men-friends were restricted to two or three, among whom barbara was glad, for alice's sake, to find captain lyster, and equally glad not to find mr. beresford. she remembered lyster's confidence to her at uplands (she had reason to remember it, she thought with bitterness), and that confidence, though accidentally distressing to herself, had impressed her with a high notion of the captain's truth and honour. she felt as though she would have liked to have talked to him about her own troubles; but she did not know how to start the subject, and lyster never gave her the smallest chance.

on the fourth day after barbara's arrival, mrs. schr?der asked her guest, as usual, if she would drive out after luncheon, and having received the usual negative, declared that she could not stand it any longer, but that air she must have. barbara would excuse her? of course barbara would; nothing she liked so much as being left alone. then mrs. schr?der determined on riding, and ordered her horse and groom round to the door, and went out for a ride.

she though& she would go for a stretch round the suburban lanes; it was better and more fitted for an unaccompanied lady than the park. so turning in at queen's gate, she skirted the row, and riding over the serpentine bridge turned up towards westbourne terrace, at the end of which, leisurely riding along, she saw mr. beresford. he saw her too, and in an instant was at her side; sitting his horse to perfection, and bowing with perfect ease and grace. he asked her where she was riding, and begged to be allowed to accompany her. she had a refusal on the tip of her tongue; then recollected that she might never have another chance of speaking to him as frankly and decidedly as she had made up her mind to speak. so she consented. during the ride, she spoke earnestly and well; beresford tried sophistry and special pleading; but they had little chance with her, so thoroughly in earnest was she. it was while in the height of his argument that they passed the lodge-gates of the den, and were seen by kate mellon.

mrs. schr?der rode home that evening in a happier frame of mind than she had been in for months. she felt that she had effectually settled all mr. beresford's pretentious, and that she might meet her husband without the smallest shadow on her brow. her joy was a little dashed by the receipt of a letter from her husband, which was put into her hand as she alighted from her horse. it said that an egyptian prince, with whom the house had large transactions, had arrived at southampton, and that he, gustav, as representing the house, was compelled to go down and do the honours to him; that he had telegraphed to his brother to relieve him as soon as possible; and that he hoped to be back the next day.

mrs. schr?der's hopes were realised. in the course of the next afternoon a cab drove up to the door in saxe-coburg square, and mr. schr?der descended from it. his wife, who had rushed to the balcony at the sound of wheels, noticed that his step was slow, and that--a thing she had never seen him do before--he leant upon the cabman's arm. when he entered the room she rushed to him, and, embracing him, asked him how he was.

"i am well, my darling," he answered; "quite well, but that i have rheumatism, or something like it. a curious pain--dead, dull, stupid pain--in my left arm and shoulder. rheumatism, of course! and you, barbara, my dear; you are well? that's right; no news with you, of course? ah! i have been thinking much about you in the train, and we will talk to-morrow of your affairs. well, alice, what news? did you persuade barbara to drive yesterday?"

"no, she refused again; so i went out on horseback."

"ah, ah! that was right. alone?"

"i went alone; but i met mr. beresford."

"beresford! i hate that name; he is a bad man. bad! bad!"

and mr. schr?der shook his hand in the air, and was obviously very much excited.

"gustav," said mrs. schr?der, "i'm very sorry that--"

"ah, you don't know! more of this beresford another time. a bad man, my dear! now i must look through my letters. dinner at seven, eh?"

and with a bow, mr. schr?der descended to his library.

the clock had struck seven, the gong had boomed through the house, and alice and barbara were standing at the dining-table; the place at the head being vacant.

"you had better tell your master, pilkington," said mrs. schr?der to the great butler; "he is probably in his dressing-room."

the great butler condescended to inform his mistress that he did not think his master had left the libery.

mrs. schr?der then bade him find his miter, and tell him they were waiting dinner.

the butler left the room, and the next moment came running back, with a face whiter than his own neckcloth. barbara saw him ere he had crossed the threshold; in an instant she saw that something had happened; and motioning the butler to precede her, walked to the library, followed by mrs. schr?der.

fallen prone on his face, across the library-table, lay mr. schr?der, dead, with an open letter rustling between his stiffening fingers.