MRS. KEENEY. (Gives a sigh of relief—her hands drop to her sides. KEENEY regards her anxiously. She passes her hand across her eyes and murmurs half to herself.) I sometimes think if we could only have had a child. (KEENEY turns away from her, deeply moved. She grabs his arm and turns him around to face her—intensely.) And I've always been a good wife to you, haven't I, David?
KEENEY (his voice betraying his emotion). No man ever had a better, Annie.
MRS. KEENEY. And I've never asked for much from you, have I,
David? Have I?
KEENEY. You know you could have all I got the power to give ye,
Annie.
MRS. KEENEY (wildly). Then do this, this once, for my sake, for God's sake—take me home! It's killing me, this life—the brutality and cold and horror of it. I'm going mad. I can feel the threat in the air. I can hear the silence threatening me—day after gray day and every day the same. I can't bear it. (Sobbing.) I'll go mad, I know I will. Take me home, David, if you love me as you say. I'm afraid. For the love of God, take me home!
(She throws her arms around him, weeping against his shoulder. His face betrays the tremendous struggle going on within him. He holds her out at arm's length, his expression softening. For a moment his shoulders sag, he becomes old, his iron spirit weakens as he looks at her tear-stained face.)
KEENEY (dragging out the words with an effort). I'll do it,
Annie—for your sake—if you say it's needful for ye.
MRS. KEENEY (with wild joy—kissing him). God bless you for that,
David!
(He turns away from her silently and walks toward the companionway. Just at that moment there is a clatter of footsteps on the stairs and the SECOND MATE enters the cabin.)
MATE (excitedly). The ice is breakin' up to no'th'rd, sir. There's a clear passage through the floe, and clear water beyond, the lookout says.