But was that
enough? Only time, and agony, would tell.
At length Mary came back on deck with a lantern, bringing each of the
men a steaming cup. Standing by her troubled companion, she offered to
watch in his stead. But for all her courage she shook from the cold as
badly as he, and her darkened eyes and sunken cheeks spoke plainly of
the harrows of the cell.
"Thank you, my Mary," he said to her. "But I've got to fight this last
battle myself. The best gift you can give me now is to know that you
are safe and well. Go lay you down, wrap yourself warmly, and try to
sleep. Go on with you now. John and I still have a bit of work ahead
of us."
She wept to see him struggling so, unable even to keep his jaw from
trembling as he spoke. But she saw that his mind was set, and that
forces warred inside him with which she must not interfere. She kissed
him gently, whispered, "I love you," and went below.
The hours seemed endless, the tension unbearable. A thousand times
Michael thought he must crack---from the pressure, the cold, and the
need to peer unerringly into the formless void.
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