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The end of the old log before him was full of poignant tragedy to

Code, the tragedy of his own life, for it was the unwritten pages

from then on that should have told the story of a fiendishly

planned revenge upon him who was totally innocent of any

wrong-doing. The easy, weak, indulgence of the father had grown a

crop of vicious and cruel deeds in the son.

CHAPTER XXII

A RECOVERED TREASURE

For five days Code yawned or rushed through the greater part of

Nat's stock of lurid literature. It was the one thing that kept

him from falling into the black pit of brooding; sometimes he

felt as though he must go insane if he allowed himself to think.

He had not the courage to tear aside the veil of dull pain that

covered his heart and look at the bleeding reality. He was afraid

of his own emotions.

It was impossible for him to go lower in the scale of physical

events.