, and says,
'Because they wouldn't have given it!'

He at once begins cutting up the sod, and, as he takes the pickaxe to
follow on with, assures me that, penalty or no penalty, honest men or
marauders, he is sure of one thing, that we shall not be disturbed at our
work till after dawn.

I remember to have heard of men who, in their enthusiasm for some special
science, art, or hobby, have quite lost the moral sense which would
restrain them from indulging it illegitimately; and I conjecture that
here, at last, is an instance of such an one. He probably guesses the
way my thoughts travel, for he stands up and solemnly asserts that he has
a distinctly justifiable intention in this matter; namely, to uncover, to
search, to verify a theory or displace it, and to cover up again. He
means to take away nothing--not a grain of sand. In this he says he sees
no such monstrous sin. I inquire if this is really a promise to me? He
repeats that it is a promise, and resumes digging. My contribution to
the labour is that of directing the light constantly upon the hole. When
he has reached something more than a foot deep he digs more cautiously,
saying that, be it much or little there, it will not lie far below the
surface; such things never are deep. A few minutes later the point of
the pickaxe clicks upon a stony substance. He draws the implement out as
feelingly as if it had entered a man's body. Taking up the spade he
shovels with care, and a surface, level as an altar, is presently
disclosed. His eyes flash anew; he pulls handfuls of grass and mops the
surface clean, finally rubbing it with his handkerchief. Grasping the
lantern from my hand he holds it close to the ground, when the rays
reveal a complete mosaic--a pavement of minute tesserae of many colours,
of intricate pattern, a work of much art, of much time, and of much
industry. He exclaims in a shout that he knew it always--that it is not
a Celtic stronghold exclusively, but also a Roman; the former people
having probably contributed little more than the original framework which
the latter took and adapted till it became the present imposing
structure.

I ask, What if it is Roman?

A great deal, according to him. That it proves all the world to be wrong
in this great argument, and himself alone to be right! Can I wait while
he digs further?

I agree--reluctantly; but he does not notice my reluctance. At an
adjoining spot he begins flourishing the tools