er
way and took a Broadway car. I dropped into a corner. Three men were on
my side of the car. I glanced casually at them, and, "Goodness mercy!"
said I to myself, "what are they gazing at--they look fairly frightened?"

I followed the direction of their eyes, and, I gasped! I felt goose-flesh
creeping up my arms! On the opposite side sat a large and handsome
mulatto woman, a small basket of white linen was on her knees, her face
was turned toward the driver, and oh, good God! not so long ago, her
throat had been cut almost from ear to ear!

The scar was hideous--sickening, it made one feel faint and frightened,
but I held my quivering nerves with an iron hand--here was my scar for
_Cora_! I must study it while I could. It had not been well cared for, I
imagine, for the edges of the awful gash were puckered, as though a
gathering thread held them. There was a queer, cord-like welt that looked
white, while the flesh either side was red and threatening; and then, as
if she felt my eyes, the woman turned and faced me. A dull color rose
slowly over her mutilated throat and handsome face, and she felt hastily
for a kerchief, which was pinned at the back of her dress-collar, and
drew the ends forward and tied them.

I kept my eyes averted after that, but when I left the car weariness was
forgotten. I stopped at a druggist's shop, bought sticking-plaster,
gold-beaters' skin, and absorbent cotton, and with springy steps reached
home, materials in hand, model in memory--I was content, I had found my
scar at last!

If you are about to accuse me of hardness of heart in using, to my own
advantage, this poor woman's misfortune, don't, or at least wait a moment
first.

When I had gone through the asylum's wards and the doctor had called my
attention to this or that exceptional case and had tried to make clear
_cause_ and _effect_; when I had noted ophidian's stealth in one and
tigerish ferocity in another, I suddenly realized that to single one of
these unfortunates out, then to go before an indifferent crowd of people
and present to them a close copy of the helpless afflicted one, would be
an act of atrocious cruelty. I could not do it! I would instead seize
upon some of the general symptoms, common to all mad people, and build up
a mad-scene with their aid, thus avoiding a cruel imitation of one of
God's afflicted.

So in this scar I was not going exactly to copy that riven throat, but,
with slender rolls of cotton, covered