Take them; and for God's sake let him go!" "Villain! give me your papers!" cried Amyas, setting his foot once more on the writhing Eustace, whose jaw was broken across.
"You struck me foully from behind," moaned he, his vanity and envy even then coming out, in that faint and foolish attempt to prove Amyas not so very much better a man.
"Hound, do you think that I dare not strike you in front?
Give me your papers, letters, whatever Popish devilry you carry; or as I live, I will cut off your head, and take them myself, even if it cost me the shame of stripping your corpse.

Give them up! Traitor, murderer! give them, I say!" And setting his foot on him afresh, he raised his sword.
Eustace was usually no craven: but he was cowed.

Between agony and shame, he had no heart to resist.

Martyrdom, which looked so splendid when consummated selon les regles on Tower Hill or Tyburn, before pitying, or (still better) scoffing multitudes, looked a confused, dirty, ugly business there in the dark forest; and as he lay, a stream of moonlight bathed his mighty cousin's broad clear forehead, and his long golden locks, and his white terrible blade, till he seemed, to Eustace's superstitious eye, like one of those fair young St.Michaels trampling on the fiend, which he had seen abroad in old German pictures.
He shuddered; pulled a packet from his bosom, and threw it from him, murmuring, "I have not given it." "Swear to me that these are all the papers which you have in cipher or out of cipher.

Swear on your soul, or you die!" Eustace swore.
"Tell me, who are your accomplices ?" "Never!" said Eustace.