"I do not know, I do not ask," said Lancelot, impetuously. "I only know that my soul hungers for a sight of my darling's face. Do not refuse me, my friend. Let me see her once more before death has obliterated all her beauty!"
"Better think of her, Lance, as when you last saw her in life and health," said the banker uneasily. "She is already changed. You are too weak to bear the agitation that would ensue if I granted your request."
"You refuse me, then," said the young man in a voice of passionate grief. "She was to have been my wife ere now, yet you will not suffer me to press one last, long kiss on the cold lips of my darling."
"Oh, do not refuse him," cried Mrs. Vance, gliding forward and laying a persuasive little hand on the banker's arm. "Think of his bleeding heart and blighted hopes. Remember how fondly he loved her. Go with him to the vault, and show him our broken Lily lying asleep in the deep rest she coveted."
Lancelot's heavy, dark eyes flashed a look of gratitude upon the beautiful pleader as she ceased to speak.
The banker paused irresolutely.
"If I thought he could bear it," he murmured.
"I can bear it, I will!" said Lancelot, firmly. "Only grant my request."
"The sexton has the key of the vault," said Mr. Lawrence, yielding reluctantly. "I will go with you, Lance."