Ernest grounded the little boat skilfully enough, and, jumping over the bow, he and the mariner pulled it up. Then Eva got out, and as she did so she thought, in the moonlight, that she noticed something resembling a twinkle in the latter’s ancient eye. She felt confused—there is nothing so confusing as a guilty conscience—and, to cover her confusion, plunged into conversation, while Ernest was finding some money to pay for the boat. “Do you often let boats?” she asked. “No, miss, only to Mr. Ernest in a general way” (so that wicked Ernest had set a trap to catch her). “O, then, I suppose you go out fishing?” “No, miss, only for rikkration, like.” “Then what do you do?”—she was getting curious on the point. “Times I does nothing; times I stands on the beach and sees things; times I runs cheeses, miss.” “Run cheeses!” “Yes, miss, Dutch ones.” “He means that he brings cargoes of Dutch cheeses to Harwich.” “Oh!” said Eva. Ernest paid the man, and they turned to go. She had not gone many yards when she felt a heavy hand laid upon her shoulder. Turning round in astonishment, she perceived the mariner. “I say, miss,” he said, in a hoarse whisper. “Well, what?” “_Niver you eat the rind of a Dutch cheese!_ I says it as knows.” Eva did not forget his advice. CHAPTER XIII. MR. CARDUS UNFOLDS HIS PLANS “Ernest,” said Mr. Cardus, on the morning following the events described in the previous chapter, “I want to speak to you in my office—and you too, Jeremy.” They both followed him into his room, wondering what was the matter. He sat down and so did they, and then, as was his habit, letting his eyes stray over every part of their persons except their faces, he began: “It is time that you two fellows took to doing something for yourselves. You must not learn to be idle men—not that most young men require much teaching in that way. What do you propose to do?” Jeremy and Ernest stared at one another rather blankly, but apparently Mr. Cardus did not expect an answer. At any rate, he went on before either of them could frame one.