“And here is the wonderful thing--all the time she was dooming these three great men not one soul moved or spoke. The entire audience sat or stood silent and motionless; and when out of the court-room they went, it was as if they were leaving a church. And Elias and Catherine Ring passed through them, and though they had the pity and respect of all there, no one spoke to them, and no one stayed them. For every word of doom Catherine Ring had uttered had been heard; and her inspired face spoke to the crowd; Elias walking at her side praying aloud as he walked. “My son Gerardus was present during the entire trial; he heard all, he saw all, and he told me the story I have just told you. And what I say is the truth--Hamilton’s earthly doom has been fulfilled; Burr is yet learning the unpitying vengence of the dead. That insane idea of conquest, who drove him to it? Who, at the critical hour, turned his confederates against him? Who sent him to wander in Europe a degraded, desperate man? What a cup of shame and poverty he drank there, I and a few others know. Then, when reckless with his misfortune, back he comes to New York, and for a short time he is lifted up by the many old acquaintances who remember his abilities and his sufferings. But only to be cast down is he lifted up. In less than one month he hears of the death of his grandson, a beautiful, intelligent boy of twelve years old, on whom all his future hopes were built. A terrible blow it was, but only the beginning of sorrow. Six months afterwards his idolised daughter left Charleston for New York. She was heartbroken by the loss of her son, and was coming to her father to be comforted. She sailed on the thirtieth of December, 1811, A. D., and ought to have been in New York about the fifth of January. She did not come. She never came. She was never heard of again. It was then Catherine Ring’s promised retribution overtook him. Who can tell what agonies of suspense he endured? There was daily hope, and there was daily despair! Such nights of grief! Such days of watching! His worst unfriends pitied him. To have heard of the unhappy woman would have pleased every one; but no, no, never a word came. When some weeks were gone over, there was a report that the ship in which she sailed had been taken by pirates, and all on board murdered except Mr. Burr’s daughter. She, it was said, had been put on shore a captive. The miserable man! He would not, he could not, bear this idea. He said to me one morning, as I talked with him at the garden gate, ‘Theodosia is dead! If she were not all the prisons in the world could not keep her from me!’ Well, then, all of you must remember the loss of Theodosia Burr Alston?” “I was in New Orleans at the time,” said Leonard. “I heard nothing there, or if so, have forgotten.” “I also was in New Orleans,” said Achille. “I do not remember--no, not at all.” “I do remember,” said Sappha. “Mother was very sorry for Mr. Burr. We often spoke of him.”