The casket was partially opened when a number of the committee of arrangements appeared and ordered the attendants to screw it up again.
"Why should the casket be opened?" he asked.
"This lady is a sister of the deceased and desires to view the remains," replied the stranger.
"Well, I don't know you and don't know whether you are his brother-in-law or not. Where is Mr. Conklin?"
At this protest the attendants again commenced to screw up the casket.
"I am John Carroll," said the stranger, with dignity. "I came here to-day with my wife from St. Catherines, Ont. I don't know Mr. Conklin or anything about him. If I wanted to insist, I could take charge of the remains and conduct the funeral myself, but all I ask is to let his sister see the body."
The committeeman relented at this, and by a gesture indicated that the attendants might open the coffin. When they had exposed the face, covered as it was by the glass, the sister stepped forward, and gazing long and intently at the features beneath, burst into a passion of tears. Bending her gray head to the glass of the casket, she lifted her veil and pressed her lips convulsively against the glass again and again as she said: "Good-by, good-by, asthore!" She turned away in a burst of passionate weeping. Her husband could not control his feelings as he silently gazed at the remains of the brother they had loved, and he, too, burst into tears. Mrs. Carroll was an elder sister of the deceased, residing at St. Catherines, Ont., and neither she nor her husband had seen him for fourteen years, but her heart warmed to him as it had in childhood when they played together in the years gone by.
Between this occurrence and midnight, a period of nearly eight hours, many thousands of people were admitted to the building. Four Knights of St. Patrick, in plumed bonnets, long gloves and drawn swords, guarded the casket, one being stationed at each corner of the catafalque. The latter was imposing enough for the obsequies of a monarch. At the four corners there were standards supporting cross pieces above at a height of fifteen feet, and which, together with the supports, were draped in black over-wound with white. Above, depending horizontally from the beams of the great roof, were draped three immense flags, their centres reaching down to the roof of black below. At the head of the casket was a massive floral cross, nearly six feet in height, and composed of marguerites, carnations, cape jasmines, roses, and lilies-of-the-valley, all in white. At the foot, upon a black-robed pedestal, stood a four-foot candelabra of brass, bearing seven lighted wax candles. Upon the top of the coffin was a large bunch of white roses attached to a pair of palms by satin ribbons, while the side and base of the bier were covered with smilax and palms overstrewn with a profusion of loose roses. To complete the effect the four corners of the catafalque were banked with pink hydrangeas, and over all looked down, from a frame of crape, a lifelike portrait of the murdered man. Only the casket and catafalque were to be seen, the coffin lid being closed until the formal lying in state on the following morning, but all who came were admitted, and hour after hour a steady stream of people filed before the sentries, and when, at midnight, the big doors were closed, it was estimated that fully twelve thousand people had, by their presence, by bowed heads and by tear-dimmed eyes, paid a simple token of respect to the memory of the murdered man.