h the fingers that were waiting to press his own. His hand
fell limply to his side.

She understood. And the warm pity in her face deepened.

"I am sorry," she said simply.

"He is happier," muttered the man.

"I don't mean for Willem. For _you_. You understand what it all means at
last."

"And, too late," he assented. "It is always too late--when one
understands."

"It is never too late," she denied eagerly. "Frederik, you have
everything ahead of you. You can----"

"I have nothing ahead of me," he contradicted dully.

"You have wealth, youth, the power to undo what wrong you did,--to start
afresh----"

"As the broken-winged bird has the power to start a new flight. Don't
waste your divine sympathy on me, Kitty. It would be thrown away. In a
very little time, as Dr. McPherson has kindly pointed out to me, I shall
be convalescent from my attack of remorse. And then all life will lie
before me, as you say. All life except the one thing that makes life
worth living."

He stopped. For he saw she understood.

"You always understood," he went on, voicing his thought. "That was one
of the wonderful things about you, Kitty. Even now, you saw the pain I
am in. And it made you forget what you believe I am. It was sweet of
you. It will be good to remember."

"I wish I could help you," she said.

"You _have_ helped me," he answered. "For you've given me a Memory to
carry till I can shake off the load--till I can get clear of McPherson's
'man-built hell.' It won't be long. So don't worry. Even now, my common
sense tells me I've made a fool of myself. And I'm human enough to be
more ashamed of being a fool than of being a knave. I had everything in
my own hands. And I threw away the game because an attack of fright kept
me from playing my winning cards. Last night I was afraid of a ghost.
This morning I'm sane enough to know that ghosts were invented by the
first nervous man who was alone at night. This morning I am heart-broken
because my little boy lies dead. To-morrow I shall be sane enough to
know that it is as lucky for me as it is for him, that he died. And in
a week I'll be congratulating myself over it all and revelling in a
freedom and a fortune I've always craved. So you see I'm quite
incurable."

"Why do you say such things?" she cried. "You know they aren't true."

"When I said you 'always understand,' Kitty, I was wrong. You don't
understand. No woman understands--that a man doesn't reform. A good ma