"Oh, impossible!" he answered, decisively. "Lily had no silly school-girl entanglements. She told me so. And she loved me alone--loved me as devotedly as I loved her--I am perfectly certain of that. No, Mrs. Vance, you are mistaken. The theory of the jury is the only one I can accept. The fatal deed must have been committed under a temporary aberration of mind." The sudden entrance of Mr. Lawrence checked the mournful expression that rose to her lips. As the two men shook hands in silence, each noted the ravages grief had made in the other. Mr. Lawrence's portly form was bowed feebly, his genial face was seamed with lines of grief and care, while premature silver threads shone amid his chestnut-brown hair. The ghastly pallor of Lancelot Darling, his wild eyes, his trembling hands, attested how maddening and soul-harrowing was his despair. "Lance, my poor boy, you have been ill," said the banker, in a gentle tone of sympathy. "Yes, I have been ill," said Lancelot, brokenly; then almost crushing the banker's hand in his strong, unconscious grasp, he broke out wildly: "Mr. Lawrence, I have come here to beg a favor of you." "Name it," said Mr. Lawrence, kindly. "I want the key of your vault. I want to see my Lily's face once more," he answered, in an imploring tone. "Would it be well? Would it be wise?" asked the other in a tone of surprise and pain. "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." "Let it be at once then. My carriage is at the gate," said the half frenzied young lover, moving off after a slight bow to Mrs. Vance.