For Dam had won her away from him, Delorme considered, inasmuch as he had brought him to Monksmead, time after time, had seen him falling in love with Lucille, had received his confidences, and spoken no warning word.  Had he said but “No poaching, Delorme,” nothing more would have been necessary; he would have kept away thenceforth, and smothered the flame ere it became a raging and consuming fire.  No, de Warrenne had served him badly in not telling him plainly that there was an understanding between him and his cousin, in letting him sink more and more deeply over head and ears in love, in letting him go on until he proposed to Lucille and learnt from her that while she liked him better than any man in the world but one—­she did not love him, and that, frankly, yes, she did love somebody else, and it was hopeless for him to hope....

He read the letter again:—­

  “MY DEAR ORMONDE,

“This is a begging letter, and I should loathe to write it, under the circumstances, to any man but such a one as you.  For I am going to ask a great deal of you and to appeal to that nobleness of character for which I have always admired you and which made you poor Dam’s hero from Lower School days at Wellingborough until you left Sandhurst (and, alas! quarrelled with him—­or rather with his memory—­about me).  That was a sad blow to me, and I tell you again as I told you before, Dam had not the faintest notion that I cared for him and would not have told me that he cared for me had I not shown it.  Your belief that he didn’t trouble to warn you because he had me safe is utterly wrong, absurd, and unjust.

“When you did me the great honour and paid me the undeserved and tremendous compliment of asking me to marry you, and I told you that I could not, and why I could not, I never dreamed that Dam could care for me in that way, and I knew that I should never marry any one at all unless he did.

“And on the same occasion, Ormonde, you begged me to promise that if ever you could serve me in any way, I would ask for your help.  You were a dear romantic boy then, Ormonde, and I loved you in a different way, and cried all night that you and I could not be friends without thought of love, and I most solemnly promised that I would turn to you if I ever needed help that you could give.  (Alas, I thought to myself then that nobody in the world could do anything for me that Dam could not do, and that I should never need help from others while he lived.)

  “I want your help, Ormonde, and I want it for
  Dam—­and me.