Sylvia rose from her bed, and slowly like one very tired she began to gather together and pack into a bag such few clothes as she could carry.

She had made up her mind to go, and to go silently before the house waked.
Whither she was to go, and what she was to do once she had gone, she could not think.

She asked herself the questions in vain, feeling very lonely and very helpless as she moved softly about the room by the light of her candle.

Her friend might write to her and she would not receive his letter.

Still she must go.