The look and the language of the speaker were alike significant, and the sinister meaning of the last sentence did not escape the notice of him to whom was addressed.  His reply was calm, however, and his mind grew more at ease, more collected, with his growing consciousness of annoyance and danger.  He answered the stranger in a vein not unlike his own.

“You are pleased to be eloquent, worthy sir—­and, on any other occasion, I might not be unwilling to bestow my ear upon you; but as I have yet to find my way out of this labyrinth, for the use of which your facetiousness would have me pay a tax, I must forego that satisfaction, and leave the enjoyment for some better day.”

“You are well bred, I see, young sir,” was the reply, “and this forms an additional reason why I should not desire so soon to break our acquaintance.  If you have mistaken your road, what do you on this?—­why are you in this part of the country, which is many miles removed from any public thoroughfare?”

“By what right do you ask the question?” was the hurried and unhesitating response.  “You are impertinent!”

“Softly, softly, young sir.  Be not rash, and let me recommend that you be more choice in the adoption of your epithets.  Impertinent is an ugly word between gentlemen of our habit.  Touching my right to ask this or that question of young men who lose the way, that’s neither here nor there, and is important in no way.  But, I take it, I should have some right in this matter, seeing, young sir, that you are upon the turnpike and I am the gate-keeper who must take the toll.”

A sarcastic smile passed over the lips of the man as he uttered the sentence, which was as suddenly succeeded, however, by an expression of gravity, partaking of an air of the profoundest business.  The traveller surveyed him for a moment before he replied, as if to ascertain in what point of view properly to understand his conduct.

“Turnpike! this is something new.  I never heard of a turnpike and a gate for toll, in a part of the world in which men, or honest ones at least, are not yet commonly to be found.  You think rather too lightly, my good sir, of my claim to that most vulgar commodity called common sense, if you suppose me likely to swallow this silly story.”

“Oh, doubtless—­you are a very sagacious young man, I make no question,” said the other, with a sneer—­“but you’ll have to pay the turnpike for all that.”

“You speak confidently on this point; but, if I am to pay this turnpike, at least, I may be permitted to know who is its proprietor.”

“To be sure you may.  I am always well pleased to satisfy the doubts and curiosity of young travellers who go abroad for information.  I take you to be one of this class.”

“Confine yourself, if you please, to the matter in hand—­I grow weary of this chat,” said the youth with a haughty inclination, that seemed to have its effect even upon him with whom he spoke.