"With the name of God upon my lips," said Mr. Marchdale, solemnly, "I would grapple with it."
"You laid hands upon it last night."
"I did, and have forgotten to show you what I tore from it. Look here,—what should you say this was?"
He produced a piece of cloth, on which was an old-fashioned piece of lace, and two buttons. Upon a close inspection, this appeared to be a portion of the lapel of a coat of ancient times, and suddenly, Henry, with a look of intense anxiety, said,—
"This reminds me of the fashion of garments very many years ago, Mr. Marchdale."
"It came away in my grasp as if rotten and incapable of standing any rough usage."
"What a strange unearthly smell it has!"
"Now you mention it yourself," added Mr. Marchdale, "I must confess it smells to me as if it had really come from the very grave."
"It does—it does. Say nothing of this relic of last night's work to any one."
"Be assured I shall not. I am far from wishing to keep up in any one's mind proofs of that which I would fain, very fain refute."