The hoarse waterman from the cabstand, whose voice had perished in the night air, croaked out at him the offer of a vehicle; and one of the night beggar-women who cling like burrs to those who roam the street a these unhallowed hours still stuck to him, as she had done ever since he had entered the Strand.
'Get away with you,' said Charley, turning at the wretched creature in his fierce anger; 'get away, or I'll give you in charge.' 'That you may never know what it is to be in misery yourself!' said the miserable Irishwoman.
'If you follow me a step farther I'll have you locked up,' said Charley.
'Oh, then, it's you that have the hard heart,' said she; 'and it's you that will suffer yet.' Charley looked round, threw her the odd halfpence which he had in his pocket, and then turned down towards the column.

The woman picked up her prize, and, with a speedy blessing, took herself off in search of other prey.
His way home would have taken him up Waterloo Place, but the space round the column was now deserted and quiet, and sauntering there, without thinking of what he did, he paced up and down between the Clubs and the steps leading into the park.

There, walking to and fro slowly, he thought of his past career, of all the circumstances of his life since his life had been left to his own control, and of the absence of all hope for the future.
What was he to do?
He was deeply, inextricably in debt.

That wretch, M'Ruen, had his name on bills which it was impossible that he should ever pay.

Tradesmen held other bills of his which were either now over-due, or would very shortly become so.