“Ormonde, were it not that it would _increase_ his misery and agony of mind I would run away from Monksmead, take a room near the Queen’s Greys barracks, and haunt the main gates until I saw him again. He should then tell me how to communicate with him, or I would hang about there till he did. I’d marry him ‘off the strength’ and live (till I am ‘of age’) by needlework if he would have me. But, of course, he’d _never_ understand that I’d be happier, and a better woman, in a Shorncliffe lodging, as a soldier’s wife, than ever I shall be here in this dreary Monksmead—until he is restored and re-habilitated (is that the word? I mean—comes into his own as a brave and noble gentleman who never did a mean or cowardly action in his life). “And he is _so_ thin and unhappy looking, Ormonde, and his poor hands are in such a state and his beautiful hair is all hacked about and done like a soldier’s, all short except for a long piece brushed down his forehead and round to his cap—oh, dreadful … and he has a scar on his face! No wonder Amelia never recognized him. Oh, _do_ help me, Ormonde. I _must_ find out how to address him. I dare not let them know there is a _D. de Warrenne_ in the regiment—and he’d never get it either—he’s probably Smith or Jones or Robinson now. If some horrid Sergeant called out ‘Trooper D. de Warrenne,’ when distributing letters, Dam would never answer to the name he thinks he has eternally disgraced, and disgrace it further by dragging it in the mire of the ranks. How _can_ people be such snobs? Isn’t a good private a better man than a bad officer? Why should there be any ‘taint’ about serving your country in any capacity? “How _can_ I find him, Ormonde, unless you help me? I could pay a servant to hang about the barracks until he recognized Dam—but that would be horrible for the poor boy. He’d deny it and say the man was mad, I expect—and it would be most unpleasant and unfair to Dam to set some one to find out from his comrades what he calls himself. If he chooses to hide from what he thinks is the chance of further disgracing his people, and suffers what he does in order to remain hidden, shall _I_ be the one to do anything to show him up and cause him worse suffering—expose him to a servant? “How _can_ I get him a letter that shall not have his name on it? If I wrote to his Colonel or the Adjutant and enclosed a letter with just ‘Dam’ on it they’d not know for whom it was meant—and I dare not tell them his real name. “Could you get a letter to him, Ormonde, without letting him know that you know he is a private soldier, and without letting a soul know his real name? “I do apologize for the length of this interminable letter, but if you only knew the _relief_ it is to me to be doing something that may help him, and to be talking, or rather writing about him, you would forgive me. “His name must not be mentioned here. Think of it!