nor a countenance that expressed such a beautiful blending of
wistful longing, of patient fortitude, and saintly resignation. It was the
face of a Madonna,--but a Madonna after the crucifixion,--pathetic in its
lonely sorrow, inspiring in its spiritual strength, and holy in its purity
and freedom from earthly passions.

She was near his mother's age; and looking at her--as he moved down the
aisle--his mother's face, as he had known it before their last meeting,
came to him with startling vividness. For an instant, he paused, moved to
take the chair beside her; but the next two seats were vacant, and he had
no excuse for intruding. Arranging his grips, he quickly seated himself
next to the window; and again, with eager interest, turned toward the
woman in the chair ahead. Involuntarily, he started with astonishment and
pity.

The woman--still gazing from the window at the distant mountain peaks, and
seemingly unconscious of her surroundings--presented now, to the man's
shocked and compassionate gaze, the other side of her face. It was
hideously disfigured by a great scar that--covering the entire cheek and
neck--distorted the corner of the mouth, drew down the lower lid of the
eye, and twisted her features into an ugly caricature. Even the ear, half
hidden under the soft, gray-threaded hair, had not escaped, but was
deformed by the same dreadful agent that had wrought such ruin to one of
the loveliest countenances the man had ever looked upon.

When the train stopped at Fairlands, and the passengers crowded into the
aisle to make their way out, of the characters belonging to my story, the
woman with the man and his daughter went first. Following them, a half
car-length of people between, went the woman with the disfigured face.

On the depot platform, as they moved toward the street, the young man
still held his place near the woman who had so awakened his pitying
interest. The three Overland passengers were met by a heavy-faced
thick-necked man who escorted them to a luxurious touring car.

The invalid and his daughter had entered the automobile when their escort,
in turning toward the other member of the party, saw the woman with the
disfigured face--who was now quite near. Instantly, he paused. And there
was a smile of recognition on his somewhat coarse features as, lifting his
hat, he bowed with--the young man fancied--condescending politeness. The
woman standing by his side with her hand upon the door of the aut