He stood for a second looking at his fallen adversary, and then (as the story goes), "with a gesture of profound regret, left the ground...." Back to Richmond Hill and the troubled household gods.

Burr was no butcher, and he did not dislike Hamilton personally.

I wonder how many times he paced the cool dining-room with the balcony outside, and how many times he refused meat or drink, before he despatched his note to Dr.Hosack?
Here it is: "Mr.Burr's respectful compliments .-- He requests Dr.Hosack to inform him of the present state of General H., and of the hopes which are entertained of his recovery.
"Mr.Burr begs to know at what hour of the day the Dr.may most probably be found at home, that he may repeat his enquiries.

He would take it very kind if the Dr.would take the trouble of calling on him, as he returns from Mr.
Bayard's." On the thirteenth, the New York _Herald_ published: "With emotions that we have not a hand to inscribe, have we to announce the death of _Alexander Hamilton_.
"He was suddenly cut off in the forty-eighth year of his age, in the full vigour of his faculties and in the midst of all his usefulness." The inquest which followed presented many and mixed views.

Samuel Lorenzo Knapp, writing in 1835, and evidently a somewhat prejudiced friend, says that "the jury of inquest at last were reluctantly dragooned into a return of murder." Meanwhile, for eleven long black days, Burr stayed indoors at Richmond Hill.