I pondered it for a moment, then put it aside. That was not the mystery I had set myself to solve. "Well, Miss Jarvis evidently got over it," I remarked, "since she afterwards became Mrs. Lawrence." "That is one way of looking at it," he assented; "but I've always thought that she was so far from getting over it that she never greatly cared what became of her afterwards." "Was it so bad as that?" "It was as bad as it could possibly be. She did not return from Scotland for two years and more. It was about a year later that she married Lawrence, who was a business associate of her father, and lived here at Elizabeth. I had been called to the pastorate of the church here and performed the ceremony." "Lawrence must have been considerably older than she, then," I suggested. "Oh, much older. He was a widower, without children. I always fancied that her father had arranged the match. He had completely broken down, and knew he hadn't long to live." "And there was only one child of this marriage?" "Only one--Marcia." "How long has Mrs. Lawrence been a widow?" "Oh, for twenty years and more." "She has lived here ever since?" "She has kept her home here, but she was abroad with her daughter for a long time--six or seven years, at least. She was very fond of France--and so was Marcia, perhaps because she was born there." "Born there?" I repeated, in some surprise. "Yes. Mr. Lawrence had a very severe illness a few months after his marriage--I don't remember just what it was--and his doctor ordered him to the south of France for a long rest. His wife, of course, accompanied him, and Marcia was born there. I think that is all the story, Mr. Lester." "Not quite all," I said. "There is still a loose end. What became of Mrs. Endicott and her daughter--I think you said there was a daughter?" "Yes--Ruth. One of the loveliest girls I ever knew. They came here from Scotch Plains, as I've said, to make their home with Mrs. Endicott's sister, Mrs. Kingdon." He noticed my start of astonishment, and paused to look at me inquiringly. "I beg your pardon," I said, "but the name struck me. Miss Lawrence's maid is named Kingdon." "Yes; she's a niece of Mrs. Endicott. I've sometimes thought that it was because of this relationship that Mrs. Lawrence was so kind to her and to her sister." "Kind to them?" I repeated. "In what way?" "She gave them the cottage they live in," he explained, "and has helped them in many other ways. The younger girl, Lucy, has a place in her household, where her duties, I fancy, are purely nominal. Her sister is supposed to take in sewing, but she really does very little." "And they are Mrs. Endicott's nieces?" "Yes--her sister's children." "And Boyd Endicott's cousins?" "Precisely." I felt a little glow of excitement, for here was a clue which might lead me out of the labyrinth--a loose end, which, grasped firmly, might serve to unravel this tangled skein.