hington was a village. It antedates the
Capitol and the White House. Built by a man of wealth, it bears to
this day the impress of the large ideas and quiet elegance of
colonial times; but the shadow which speedily fell across it made
it a marked place even in those early days. While it has always
escaped the hackneyed epithet of "haunted," families that have moved
in have as quickly moved out, giving as their excuse that no
happiness was to be found there and that sleep was impossible under
its roof. That there was some reason for this lack of rest within
walls which were not without their tragic reminiscences, all must
acknowledge. Death had often occurred there, and while this fact
can be stated in regard to most old houses, it is not often that
one can say, as in this case, that it was invariably sudden and
invariably of one character. A lifeless man, lying outstretched on
a certain hearthstone, might be found once in a house and awaken no
special comment; but when this same discovery has been made twice,
if not thrice, during the history of a single dwelling, one might
surely be pardoned a distrust of its seemingly home-like
appointments, and discern in its slowly darkening walls the
presence of an evil which if left to itself might perish in the
natural decay of the e place, but which, if met and challenged,
might strike again and make another blot on its thrice-crimsoned
hearthstone.

But these are old fables which I should hardly, presume to mention,
had it not been for the recent occurrence which has recalled them
to all men's minds and given to this long empty and slowly crumbling
building an importance which has spread its fame from one end of
the country to the other. I refer to the tragedy attending the
wedding lately celebrated there.

Veronica Moore, rich, pretty and wilful, had long cherished a
strange liking for this frowning old home of her ancestors, and,
at the most critical time of her life, conceived the idea of proving
to herself and to society at large that no real ban lay upon it save
in the imagination of the superstitious. So, being about to marry
the choice of her young heart, she caused this house to be opened
for the wedding ceremony; with what result, you know.

Though the occasion was a joyous one and accompanied by all that
could give cheer to such a function, it had not escaped the
old-time shadow. One of the guests straying into the room of
ancient and unhallowed memory,