I frowned, observing Tom’s face, and bade the boy hold his tongue.
‘I’d run no risks if I were you, Butler,’ said Mr. Bates. ‘Would ye take a suggestion or two amiss?’
‘What d’ye want to say, Bates?’
‘You’ll want a place where there are no English. No need to lift the Southern Cross into view to find it.’ He looked at me. ‘There are scores of villages in Spain, away over in Austria and Hungary, down in Italy and other Mediterranean nations, in any one of which, under any sort of colour you choose to fly, you’d flourish as secure—you and this lady as your wife—as if you mined a lodging for yourselves in a Galapagos rock.’
‘We’ll not live in Europe,’ said I; ‘London is always too close there.’
‘London’s the safest place in the world to hide in,’ said Will.
‘Don’t talk of hiding,’ cried I, angrily.
‘Bates,’ said Tom, turning his eyes from me to the mate, ‘it’s under the Southern Cross you named just now that I mean to seek my lodging for life. Since it’s come to this, I would to God this lady were my wife. But it’s to be brought about. Patience! Patience! Oh, Bates, how often have I whispered this word “patience” to myself! But the consideration kinks the line for running, Bates. Long ago my mind was resolved that if ever I stole or got my liberty and had this true heart at my side, I’d dwell in the middle of the ocean in the very loneliest of the islands that are washed by salt water. D’ye know Tristan d’Acunha?’
‘Tristan d’Acunha!’ muttered Will, staring at me.
‘It’s inhabited,’ said Tom. ‘I’ve been ashore there, talked with Corporal Glass, sat in his house, made him presents.’