492 NEMESI8 . Nex Ira in the annals of Virginia's fair Capitol. But the fatal spot is haunted yet. The stranger's foot loiters beside the simple and time-stained tomb, while he reads the record of the slain, and a troop of horrified, struggling, despairing phantoms seems to encircle him, as he lingers over the list ; the bright, calm day is changed into the lurid illumination of the Death Festival, and heart-sick and shuddering, he turns away. The Commonwealth still mourns the ornaments of her high places, and in many, many homes, the date of that Christmas merrymaking is marked by a cross of blood ; is never named but in whispers, with pale lips and aching hearts.
One wet August afternoon, Mrs. Holt rehearsed the dismal
story, to five or six young girls, visitors at the hospitable home- stead. They clustered closely about her ; sitting upon stools and the floor — some in the laps of others, for the narrator's tones were mysteriously low, and with the horror inspired by the tale, came the disposition to keep near together.
"What a mercy it was that you did not go, Mrs. Holt !" said
one.
"You are quite correct, my dear. Yet I am surprised in the
retrospect, that I chose a quiet, intellectual conversation with Mrs. Wickham, instead of the entertainment of the play-house: I thought then, that my decision grew out of my contempt for the stamp of the performances for that evening. Of the legiti- mate drama, I was always an enthusiastic admirer. But I have since reflected, with reverence and gratitude, that my action was rather an illustration of the truth, so beautifully expressed by the great poet —
" There's a divinity that shapes our ends
Rough-hew them as we may."
"Was it ever known how the house took fire ?"
"Never definitely. The most probable story was that it was
