The speaker paused and leaned back for a moment in his chair, his face very stern.
"That was his revenge," he added. "But I doubt if he foresaw how bitter it was to be. For Endicott shot himself; the place was sold, and the widow and her daughter came to live here in Elizabeth, where they had relatives."
"But the boy," I asked; "where was he?"
"He was killed two days after that Christmas Eve in a railroad wreck somewhere in the West—I have forgotten exactly where. His body was brought home to Scotch Plains and buried there."
"In the West?" I repeated. "What was he doing in the West?"
"I don't know," answered Dr. Schuyler. "I've never been able to understand it."
"Were he and Miss Jarvis already married? Or did they expect to be married afterwards?"
"Well," said Dr. Schuyler slowly, "I inferred from the note that they were already married. But I may have been mistaken in thinking so. I know that her father did not believe it."
"And you say that you've never been able to understand why, after all, they did not go away together—why Miss Jarvis went to New York and Endicott to the West?"
Dr. Schuyler hesitated.