four o'clock
cried Dashwood , leaning back against a tree to support himself , whilst he laughed violently -- `` what do you think she is about at this instant ? -- packing up her clothes in a band-box . '' `` Packing up her clothes in a band-box ! '' `` Yes ; she verily believes that I am dying with impatience to carry her off to Scotland , and at four o'clock to-morrow morning she trips down stairs out of the garden-door , of which she keeps the key , flies across the park , scales the gate , gains the village , and takes refuge with her good friend , Miss Lacy , the milliner , where she is to wait for me . Now , in the mean time , the moment the coast is clear , I fly to you , my _ real _ angel . '' `` Oh , no , upon my word , '' said Lady Augusta , so faintly , that Dashwood went on exactly in the same tone . `` I fly to you , my angel , and we shall be half way on our trip to Scotland before mademoiselle 's patience is half exhausted , and before _ Miladi _ S -- is quite awake . ''