“It is worth while proceeding in our labours,” said the Antiquary to Sir Arthur, “were it but for curiosity’s sake. I wonder on whose sepulchre they have bestowed such uncommon pains.”
“The arms on the shield,” said Sir Arthur, and sighed as he spoke it, “are the same with those on Misticot’s tower, supposed to have been built by Malcolm the usurper. No man knew where he was buried, and there is an old prophecy in our family, that bodes us no good when his grave shall be discovered.”
“I wot,” said the beggar, “I have often heard that when I was a bairn—
If Malcolm the Misticot’s grave were fun’,
The lands of Knockwinnock were lost and won.”
Oldbuck, with his spectacles on his nose, had already knelt down on the monument, and was tracing, partly with his eye, partly with his finger, th
