"I shall never go to dig it up," I said, "I will go to sea no more. The Duke tells me there is four thousand pounds for me at Sir Josiah Child's--'tis enough to do very well for my life. I will buy me a little house somewhere, and an annuity from some nobleman with the rest." "And," went on Sir William, "in that little house find out a hiding place, and leave therein a full description of where your treasure is, so that those who come after you shall, if they care to be at the trouble thereof, discover a fortune. You will be marrying now, Nick, perhaps?" "Nay," said I, "I think not. Never now! Once when my heart was young and fresh I did love a sweet young girl--she was the daughter of a retired officer of Oliver's, and they dwelt at Kew--but the smallpox ravaged the land and took her from me. I find myself thinking of her often now; perhaps 'tis because the time is drawing near when I shall see her again, as young and fair as she was in those bygone, happy days; but I shall never have a wife." "Poor Nick, poor Nick," said Phips, laying his great hand very gently on my shoulder. "Poor Nick. So you have had your romance too. Ah, well! so have most men." Then a little later he said, "You know I go out again with Sir John Narborough--I cannot rest quietly at home in Boston till my rule begins in Massachusetts--we shall be near your little Key--shall I go and dig your spoil up? I would do it most faithfully for you, Nick, as you know." "No," I answered, after pondering awhile. "No, not unless you will do so and take it, or some of it, for yourself." "That," said he, "I will never do. Not a stiver, not one coin. 'Tis all yours." "Then let it lie there," said I, "for those who shall come after me. There is one other Crafer left in Hampshire, a country gentleman, who has perhaps some children now. It shall be theirs when I am gone if they choose to search for it." So we parted for the last time, not without tears in our eyes, we having been so much to each other for so long that we could not easily say farewell. As for him, he went on his cruise with Sir John Narborough, but, as he after wrote me, he found nothing. And then the time came for him to take up his rule in his own land, which he did wisely and well, and perhaps because of his old belief in sooth-sayers, and wizards, and geomancers--and, indeed, the knave I have writ of did tell his fortune most wondrously, even to his becoming a ruler though not a King--he spared many in New England who would have been barbarously entreated otherwise. And he took with him a fine gold medal, which the now fast falling King had had struck in honour of his finding the galleon's wreck, having on it the words _Semper tibi pendeat Hamus_, which the curate of Mortlake did afterwards translate for me as meaning, "May thy fishing always be as good to thee." It bore on it a supposed drawing of the _Furie_, but none too accurate, though near enough.