He came haltingly toward her. He held out his hand to meet hers. But he could not touch 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."