Creatures of the Night (Boxed Set Edition). Редьярд Джозеф Киплинг

dust before their very fingers.

      In some cases the inscriptions were quite illegible, and, in others, the plates that had borne them had fallen on to the floor of the vault, so that it was impossible to say to which coffin they belonged.

      Of course, the more recent and fresh-looking coffins they did not examine, because they could not have anything to do with the object of that melancholy visit.

      "We shall arrive at no conclusion," said George. "All seems to have rotted away among those coffins where we might expect to find the one belonging to Marmaduke Bannerworth, our ancestor."

      "Here is a coffin plate," said Marchdale, taking one from the floor.

      He handed it to Mr. Chillingworth, who, upon an inspection of it, close to the light, exclaimed—

      "It must have belonged to the coffin you seek."

      "What says it?"

      "Ye mortale remains of Marmaduke Bannerworth, Yeoman. God reste his soule. A.D. 1540."

      "It is the plate belonging to his coffin," said Henry, "and now our search is fruitless."

      "It is so, indeed," exclaimed George, "for how can we tell to which of the coffins that have lost the plates this one really belongs?"

      "I should not be so hopeless," said Marchdale. "I have, from time to time, in the pursuit of antiquarian lore, which I was once fond of, entered many vaults, and I have always observed that an inner coffin of metal was sound and good, while the outer one of wood had rotted away, and yielded at once to the touch of the first hand that was laid upon it."

      "But, admitting that to be the case," said Henry, "how does that assist us in the identification of a coffin?"

      "I have always, in my experience, found the name and rank of the deceased engraved upon the lid of the inner coffin, as well as being set forth in a much more perishable manner on the plate which was secured to the outer one."

      "He is right," said Mr. Chillingworth. "I wonder we never thought of that. If your ancestor was buried in a leaden coffin, there will be no difficulty in finding which it is."

      Henry seized the light, and proceeding to one of the coffins, which seemed to be a mass of decay, he pulled away some of the rotted wood work, and then suddenly exclaimed—

      "You are quite right. Here is a firm strong leaden coffin within, which, although quite black, does not otherwise appear to have suffered."

      "What is the inscription on that?" said George.

      With difficulty the name on the lid was deciphered, but it was found not to be the coffin of him whom they sought.

      "We can make short work of this," said Marchdale, "by only examining those leaden coffins which have lost the plates from off their outer cases. There do not appear to be many in such a state."

      He then, with another light, which he lighted from the one that Henry now carried, commenced actively assisting in the search, which was carried on silently for more than ten minutes.

      Suddenly Mr. Marchdale cried, in a tone of excitement—

      "I have found it. It is here."

      They all immediately surrounded the spot where he was, and then he pointed to the lid of a coffin, which he had been rubbing with his handkerchief, in order to make the inscription more legible, and said—

      "See. It is here."

      By the combined light of the candles they saw the words—

      "Marmaduke Bannerworth, Yeoman, 1640."

      "Yes, there can be no mistake here," said Henry. "This is the coffin, and it shall be opened."

      "I have the iron crowbar here," said Marchdale. "It is an old friend of mine, and I am accustomed to the use of it. Shall I open the coffin?"

      "Do so—do so," said Henry.

      They stood around in silence, while Mr. Marchdale, with much care, proceeded to open the coffin, which seemed of great thickness, and was of solid lead.

      It was probably the partial rotting of the metal, in consequence of the damps of that place, that made it easier to open the coffin than it otherwise would have been, but certain it was that the top came away remarkably easily. Indeed, so easily did it come off, that another supposition might have been hazarded, namely, that it had never at all been effectually fastened.

      The few moments that elapsed were ones of very great suspense to every one there present; and it would, indeed, be quite sure to assert, that all the world was for the time forgotten in the absorbing interest which appertained to the affair which was in progress.

      The candles were now both held by Mr. Chillingworth, and they were so held as to cast a full and clear light upon the coffin. Now the lid slid off, and Henry eagerly gazed into the interior.

      There lay something certainly there, and an audible "Thank God!" escaped his lips.

      "The body is there!" exclaimed George.

      "All right," said Marchdale, "here it is. There is something, and what else can it be?"

      "Hold the lights," said Mr. Chillingworth; "hold the lights, some of you; let us be quite certain."

      George took the lights, and Mr. Chillingworth, without any hesitation, dipped his hands at once into the coffin, and took up some fragments of rags which were there. They were so rotten, that they fell to pieces in his grasp, like so many pieces of tinder.

      There was a death-like pause for some few moments, and then Mr. Chillingworth said, in a low voice—

      "There is not the least vestige of a dead body here."

      Henry gave a deep groan, as he said—

      "Mr. Chillingworth, can you take upon yourself to say that no corpse has undergone the process of decomposition in this coffin?"

      "To answer your question exactly, as probably in your hurry you have worded it," said Mr. Chillingworth, "I cannot take upon myself to say any such thing; but this I can say, namely, that in this coffin there are no animal remains, and that it is quite impossible that any corpse enclosed here could, in any lapse of time, have so utterly and entirely disappeared."

      "I am answered," said Henry.

      "Good God!" exclaimed George, "and has this but added another damning proof, to those we have already on our minds, of one of the must dreadful superstitions that ever the mind of man conceived?"

      "It would seem so," said Marchdale, sadly.

      "Oh, that I were dead! This is terrible. God of heaven, why are these things? Oh, if I were but dead, and so spared the torture of supposing such things possible."

      "Think again, Mr. Chillingworth; I pray you think again," cried Marchdale.

      "If I were to think for the remainder of my existence," he replied, "I could come to no other conclusion. It is not a matter of opinion; it is a matter of fact."

      "You are positive, then," said Henry, "that the dead body of Marmaduke Bannerworth is not rested here?"

      "I am positive. Look for yourselves. The lead is but slightly discoloured; it looks tolerably clean and fresh; there is not a vestige of putrefaction—no bones, no dust even."

      They did all look for themselves, and the most casual glance was sufficient to satisfy the most sceptical.

      "All is over," said Henry; "let us now leave this place; and all I can now ask of you, my friends, is to lock this dreadful secret deep in your own hearts."

      "It shall never pass my lips," said Marchdale.

      "Nor mine, you may depend," said the doctor. "I was much in hopes that this night's work would have had