Glenn Kilbourne means in that letter--if you want to hear it."

"I do--indeed."

"The war did something horrible to Glenn aside from wrecking his health.
Shell-shock, they said! I don't understand that. Out of his mind, they
said! But that never was true. Glenn was as sane as I am, and, my dear,
that's pretty sane, I'll have you remember. But he must have suffered some
terrible blight to his spirit--some blunting of his soul. For months after
he returned he walked as one in a trance. Then came a change. He grew
restless. Perhaps that change was for the better. At least it showed he'd
roused. Glenn saw you and your friends and the life you lead, and all the
present, with eyes from which the scales had dropped. He saw what was
wrong. He never said so to me, but I knew it. It wasn't only to get well
that he went West. It was to get away. . . . And, Carley Burch, if your
happiness depends on him you had better be up and doing--or you'll lose
him!"

"Aunt Mary!" gasped Carley.

"I mean it. That letter shows how near he came to the Valley of the
Shadow--and how he has become a man. . . . If I were you I'd go out West.
Surely there must be a place where it would be all right for you to stay."

"Oh, yes," replied Carley, eagerly. "Glenn wrote me there was a lodge where
people went in nice weather--right down in the canyon not far from his
place. Then, of course, the town--Flagstaff--isn't far. . . . Aunt Mary, I
think I'll go."

"I would. You're certainly wasting your time here."