They both knew what was
passing in the minds of the brothers, and they had too much delicacy to
interrupt a train of thought which, although from having no affinity
with the dead who lay around, they could not share in, yet they
respected. Henry at length, with a sudden start, seemed to recover
himself from his reverie. "This is a time for action, George," he said, "and not for romantic
thought. Let us proceed." "Yes, yes," said George, and he advanced a step towards the centre of
the vault. "Can you find out among all these coffins, for there seem to be nearly
twenty," said Mr. Chillingworth, "which is the one we seek?" "I think we may," replied Henry. "Some of the earlier coffins of our
race, I know, were made of marble, and others of metal, both of which
materials, I expect, would withstand the encroaches of time for a
hundred years, at least." "Let us examine," said George. There were shelves or niches built into the walls all round, on which
the coffins were placed, so that there could not be much difficulty in a
minute examination of them all, the one after the other. When, however, they came to look, they found that "decay's offensive
fingers" had been more busy than they could have imagined, and that
whatever they touched of the earlier coffins crumbled into 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. [Illustration]

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?"