She held it for a little while without opening it. It seemed so strange to have it just as she was nearing Freeport.
The letter was dated the week before. It read:
"Dear Ruth:
"I'm leaving Freeport tonight. I'm going to Europe—to volunteer my services as a doctor. Parker, whom I knew well at Hopkins, is right in the midst of it. He can work me in. And the need for doctors is going to go on for some time, I fancy; it won't end with the war.
"I'm happy in this decision, Ruth, and I know you'll be glad for me. It was your letter that got me—made me see myself and hate myself, made me know that I had to 'come out of it.' And then this idea came to me, and I wish I could tell you how different everything seemed as soon as I saw some reason for my existence. I'm ashamed of myself for not having seen it this way before. As if this were any time for a man who's had my training to sit around moping!
"Life is bigger than just ourselves. And isn't it curious how seeing that brings us back to ourselves?
"I'll enclose Parker's address. You can reach me in care of him. I want to hear from you.
"I can hardly wait to get there!
"Deane."