No more was said at the time.

Immediately after dinner Dr. Grimshaw ordered his horse, and saying that he was going to Leonardtown and should not be back till the next day, set forth.

And after an early tea, Mrs. Waugh and Jacquelina set out in the family sleigh.  A swift run over the hard, frozen snow brought them to Old Fields, where they stopped a moment to pick up Marian, and then shooting forward at the same rate of speed, they reached the lecture-room in full time.

Jacquelina was perhaps the very least enchanted of all his hearers—­she was, in fact, an exception, and found the discourse so entirely uninteresting that it was with difficulty she could refrain from yawning in the face of the orator.  Mrs. Waugh also, perhaps, was but half mesmerized, for her eyes would cautiously wander from the lecturer’s pulpit to the side window on her right hand.  At length she stooped and whispered to Jacquelina: 

“Child, be cautious; Dr. Grimshaw is on the ground—­I have seen his face rise up to that lower pane of glass at the corner of that window, several times.  He must be crouched down on the outside.”

Jacquelina gave a little start of surprise—­her face underwent many phases of expression; she glanced furtively at the indicated window, and there she saw a pale, wild face gleam for an instant against the glass, and then drop.  She nodded her head quickly, muttering: 

“Oh, I’ll pay him!”

“Don’t child! don’t do anything imprudent, for gracious’ sake!  That man is crazy—­any one can see he is!”

“Oh, aunty, I’ll be sure to pay him!  He shan’t be in my debt much longer.  Soft, aunty!  Don’t look toward the window again!  Don’t let him perceive that we see him or suspect him—­and then, you’ll see what you’ll see.  I have a counter plot.”

This last sentence was muttered to herself by Jacquelina, who thereupon straightened herself up—­looked the lecturer in the eyes—­and gave her undevoted attention to him during the rest of the evening.  There was not a more appreciating and admiring hearer in the room than Jacquelina affected to be.  Her face was radiant, her eyes starry, her cheeks flushed, her pretty lips glowing breathlessly apart—­her whole form instinct with enthusiasm.  Any one might have thought the little creature bewitched.  But the fascinating orator need not have flattered himself—­had he but known it—­Jacquelina neither saw his face nor heard his words; she was seeing pictures of Grim’s bitter jealousy, mortification and rage, as he beheld her from his covert; she was rehearsing scenes of what she meant to do to him.  And when at last she forgot herself, and clapped her hand enthusiastically, it was not at the glorious peroration of the orator—­but at the perfection of her own little plot!

When the lecturer had finished, and as usual announced the subject and the time of the next lecture, Jacquelina, instead of rising with the mass of the audience, showed a disposition to retain her seat.