"Lend me threepence, old man!" she exclaimed suddenly, as she turned to him. "What for?" said Matt. "Glass of brandy," said the girl, holding her hand pressed to her side, and then battling hard once more with her cough. "I haven't a halfpenny left," said Matt drearily, "or I shouldn't be sitting here, my lass. But you're better without the brandy, and there's no place open now." "There! I don't want your money, old man," said the girl; "only one gets so used to asking, it comes natural. Are you hard up?" "Yes," said Matt drearily, "close as I can be." "Here!" she exclaimed, holding out sixpence. "You may as well have it, as for me to take it back." The old man stared at his companion for a moment, and then raised his hand to take the money, but he suddenly lowered it again. "No, my lass, no," he said; "thank you all the same, but I can do without it." The girl's eyes flashed as she looked angrily at the old man, and then raising her hand, she dashed the money over the parapet, and sank down upon the seat sobbing violently. "There!" she exclaimed passionately, as Matt spoke soothingly to her; "I know, and I deserve it all. I wish I was dead--I wish I was dead!" "I didn't mean to hurt you," said Matt kindly. "Now go home, my lass, and try and forget it." "Home!" said the girl, with a forced mocking laugh. "Yes, when it's time. Good-night old man. You didn't meet Marian, did you?" "Who?" said Matt absently. "Marian," said the girl; "I'm looking for her. But you don't know her; good-night;" and she went lightly off, humming the snatch of a popular air as she went towards the City; while, after waiting until the girlish form had disappeared, old Matt rose himself and began to shuffle back the same way as he had come; looking longingly at a passing hay-cart bound for the market, and thinking of the fragrant stack whence the load had been taken, and how pleasant it would have been to have dragged out a heap to nestle in. For the old man was cold, weary, and ill; and as he slowly shuffled along, many a thought of those who rested upon luxurious couches came to his mind. He crossed the great echoing cathedral yard, and passed slowly from gaslight to gaslight, too weary now to talk. Now and then he would encounter a policeman, who turned to look after the slow, shambling figure. At intervals, a cab would rattle by him, while once, with its hollow, heavy rumble, a fire-engine dashed by, the light flashing back from the shining helmets of the firemen; then there was a short, rushing vision of something red covered with figures, and drawn by two steaming, plunging horses, a faint dying away of the hurrying wheels, and then all still once more, for it was now the most silent hour of the whole twenty-four in great London. Dull and dreary looked the streets, with hardly a wayfarer in sight, and those, perhaps, women who paced wearily along or talked noisily to a companion.