“Sir,” says I, “I perceive that you regard this sudden determination on my part as foolish and laughable, and indeed I can scarce see it otherwise myself. But give me leave to remind you that the purpose for the accomplishing whereof I came hither is much more than performed, for I have long since heard from my attorney that all the burdens and mortgages on my father’s estates are paid off, through the sums that I have remitted to him, and all necessary improvements effected, and now I have a genteel competence assured me from my rents as well as from the moneys I have put out to interest at home and adventured in divers cargoes, &c., here. I have no desire for prodigious wealth, and do now possess more than any of my family has done, though what I have invested here must needs continue to increase, so long as our trade subsist. Why, then, should I tarry longer in the Indies, becoming strange to my own country and growing old and crabbed, when at Ellswether I may live in modest comfort, cheered by the company of one of the best women in the world?” “Why,” says he, “your argument of your case is mighty convincing. But I pray you remember, Ned, that _He that reckons without his host, must reckon twice_. What if the lady of whom you speak don’t care to wed you?” “Oh, but that is understood, sir,” says I. “Well, Ned,” says he, “go, and may you enjoy all the good fortune you look for. ’Tis well you can disengage yourself from the pursuit of wealth thus early, in the stead of toiling on for the mere sake of toiling, as ’tis with others, and with me amongst ’em. How shall I do without you, lad?” “Nay, sir,” says I, “come home with me, and sure we will show the world a modern example of that friendship which they say is now passed away.” “Nay,” said he, “not yet. I have no bride awaiting me, Ned, nor no cause for haste. In five years or so, if it please God, I may come home and pay you a visit. But Surat is as dear a place to me now as any save one, and that I trust to see once more before I die. My parents lie buried there, and one that I had hoped should be all, and more than all, to me that Mrs Brandon is to you, lad. That spot I would fain see again, but little time will be required for that, and I look still to be of some use here. Though Mr Ned Carlyon ben’t my fellow no longer, I may yet find some young writer but newly arrived hither that will bear with an old man’s infirmities and listen to his counsel. But your work lies at Ellswether, Ned, as I see now clearly, and therefore I can but bid you go home to’t immediately. _Take time when Time commeth, lest Time steale away._”