The weather now changed. The brilliant summer days had suffered an eclipse. The sky was overcast with grey cloud, and cold north-west winds came from the Atlantic, and made the leaves of beech and oak shiver. On the front of heaven, on the face of earth, was written Ichabod—the glory is departed. What poetry is to the mind, that the sun is to nature. The sun was withdrawn, and the hard light was colourless, prosaic. There was nowhere beauty any more. Two chilly damp days had transformed all. Mr. Jordan shivered in his room. The days seemed to have shortened by a leap. Mr. Jordan, out of perversity, because Barbara had advised his remaining in, had walked into the garden, and after shivering there a few minutes had returned to his room, out of humour with his daughter because he felt she was in the right in the counsel she gave. Then Jane came to him, with mischief in her eyes, breathless. ‘Please, master,’ she said in low tones, looking about her to make sure she was not overheard. ‘What do y’ think, now! Mr. Jasper have agone to the wood, carrying a blanket. What can he want that for, I’d like to know. He’s not thinking of sleeping there, I reckon.’ ‘Go after him, Jane,’ said Mr. Jordan. ‘You are a good girl, more faithful than my own flesh and blood. Do not allow him to see that he is followed.’ The girl nodded knowingly, and went out. ‘Now,’ said Mr. Jordan to himself, ‘I’ll come to the bottom of this plot at last. My own children have turned against me. I will let them see that I can counter-plot. Though I be sick and feeble and old, I will show that I am master still in my own house. Who is there?’ Mr. Coyshe entered, bland and fresh, rubbing his hands. ‘Well, Jordan,’ said he—he had become familiar in his address since his engagement—’how are you? And my fairy Eve, how is she? None the worse for her junket?’ ‘Junket!’ repeated the old man. ‘What junket?’ ‘Bless your soul!’ said the surgeon airily. ‘Of course you think only of curdled milk. I don’t allude to that local dish—or rather bowl—I mean Eve’s expedition to Plymouth t’other night.’ ‘Eve—Plymouth!’ ‘Of course. Did you not know? Have I betrayed a secret? Lord bless me, why should it be kept a secret? She enjoyed herself famously. Knows no better, and thought the performance was perfection. I have seen Kemble, and Kean, and Vestris. But for a provincial theatre it was well enough.’ ‘You went with her to the theatre?’ ‘Yes, I and Mr. Jasper. But don’t fancy she went only out of love of amusement. She went to see the manager, a Mr. Justice Thing-a-majig.’ ‘Barret?’ ‘That’s the man, because he had known her mother.’ Mr. Jordan’s face changed, and his eyes stared. He put up his hands as though waving away something that hung before him. ‘And Jasper?’ ‘Oh, Jasper was with her. They left me to eat my supper in comfort. I can’t afford to spoil my digestion, and I’m particularly fond of crab. You cannot eat crab in a scramble and do it justice.’