How could she meet them?
What could she say to them?
How could she ever look upon the face of the Duke of Hereward and _live_?
She must fly at once.

No, there was no time to write a note and leave it pinned on her dressing-table cushion.

Besides, what could she say in her note?
Nothing; or nothing that she would say.
She must go and make no sign.

She forced herself to rise from the floor and commence hurried preparations for immediate flight.
In all the tumult of her soul, some intuition guided her through her hasty arrangements to take the most effectual means to elude pursuit and baffle discovery.
She took off her handsome mourning dress of black silk and crape that she had put on to travel in, and she packed it, with the black felt hat, vail, sack and gloves that belonged to the suit, in one of her trunks, which she carefully locked.
Then from some receptacle of her left-off colored dresses, she selected a dark-gray silk suit, with sack, hat, vail and gloves to match.

And in that she dressed herself.
Then she reflected.
"They will think that I went away in my mourning dress, which they will miss.