An abrupt turn round a mass of protruding stone brought the wandering man of peace unexpectedly upon this scene; but before he had time to survey it, he was suddenly seized upon by an arm of iron, and hurled upon the ground. The next moment, a strong hand was at his throat, a heavy knee on his chest, and a long, bright knife gleamed like a flash of lightning before his eyes. CHAPTER XIX. That you are rogues, And infamous base rascals, (there's the point now,) I take it, is confess'd.---- May a poor huntsman, with a merry heart, A voice shall make the forest ring about him, Get leave to live amongst ye?--true as steel, boys! BEGGARS' BUSH. "Speak--who and what are you? and what seek you here?" said the harsh voice of the conqueror. The intruder looked up in his face with some wonder, and beheld the features of a man of middle age, very dark and fierce of aspect, with long black locks of hair hanging from his temples, wild, Indian-looking eyes, and a mouth expressive of as much inherent ferocity as was ever betrayed by the visage even of a red-man. "Speak," repeated the apparition, impatiently, "or never speak more!" To this the prisoner replied with less confusion of mind than difficulty of articulation,-- "Hark ye, Mr. Green, or Gray, or Black,--for a deuced black face you have!--or, if you like that better, Mr. Hawk-of-the-Hollow Gilbert, 'what is the reason that you use me thus?' 'I would be friends with you, and have your love;'--but not while I am on my back, to be sure. 'Call you this backing of your friends?' 'Slife, sir, take away your fingers, and let me up: I am Iago, the 'honest, honest' man. At any rate, be so civil as to consider, that, though your knee may find its cushion agreeable enough, my lungs do not." "And what will they think of a knife in them?" cried the fierce captor, without relaxing his hold. "You were among the hounds that were hunting me!" "Ay; and had they caught you, I should have been among the hunters that were hanging you,--provided they had not tucked me up first. Hark ye, friend Hawk, I should have known you better, had you stuck to the gray whig; I remember you of old, Mr. Green, the trader. I am an honest man; ask Sir Guy Carleton else; if he don't know Ephraim Patch, who is just as honest as myself, why then ask him about one Leonidas Sterling, an old friend and correspondent of his worship at Philadelphia. 'Slife, sir, I tell you I am a true man." "Give me some proof, and I will release you. Trifle with me, and you are a dead man." "Put your hand into the right pocket of my vest," cried the prostrate sufferer, "and you will find it." The conqueror did as directed, and drew forth a guinea.