My resting-time was past; my difficulties--my stringent difficulties--recommenced.

When I went on deck, the cold air and black scowl of the night seemed to rebuke me for my presumption in being where I was: the lights of the foreign sea-port town, glimmering round the foreign harbour, met me like unnumbered threatening eyes.

Friends came on board to welcome the Watsons; a whole family of friends surrounded and bore away Miss Fanshawe; I--but I dared not for one moment dwell on a comparison of positions.
Yet where should I go?
I must go somewhere.

Necessity dare not be nice.
As I gave the stewardess her fee--and she seemed surprised at receiving a coin of more value than, from such a quarter, her coarse calculations had probably reckoned on--I said, "Be kind enough to direct me to some quiet, respectable inn, where I can go for the night." She not only gave me the required direction, but called a commissionaire, and bid him take charge of me, and--_not_ my trunk, for that was gone to the custom-house.
I followed this man along a rudely-paved street, lit now by a fitful gleam of moonlight; he brought me to the inn.

I offered him sixpence, which he refused to take; supposing it not enough, I changed it for a shilling; but this also he declined, speaking rather sharply, in a language to me unknown.