Sir Arthur might, indeed, have remembered seeing the monument on the former occasion, but his mind was too much agitated to attend to the circumstance as a novelty.
While the assistants were engaged in these recollections and discussions, the workmen proceeded with their labour.

They had already dug to the depth of nearly five feet, and as the flinging out the soil became more and more difficult, they began at length to tire of the job.
"We're down to the till now," said one of them, "and the neer a coffin or onything else is here--some cunninger chiel's been afore us, I reckon;"-- and the labourer scrambled out of the grave.
"Hout, lad," said Edie, getting down in his room--"let me try my hand for an auld bedral;--ye're gude seekers, but ill finders." So soon as he got into the grave, he struck his pike-staff forcibly down; it encountered resistance in its descent, and the beggar exclaimed, like a Scotch schoolboy when he finds anything, "Nae halvers and quarters--hale o' mine ain and 'nane o' my neighbour's." Everybody, from the dejected Baronet to the sullen adept, now caught the spirit of curiosity, crowded round the grave, and would have jumped into it, could its space have contained them.

The labourers, who had begun to flag in their monotonous and apparently hopeless task, now resumed their tools, and plied them with all the ardour of expectation.

Their shovels soon grated upon a hard wooden surface, which, as the earth was cleared away, assumed the distinct form of a chest, but greatly smaller than that of a coffin.

Now all hands were at work to heave it out of the grave, and all voices, as it was raised, proclaimed its weight and augured its value.