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The day after our arrival Mooney and Mr. Mason left the Quest for home. I know it was with the greatest reluctance that Sir Ernest parted from them; but both had been very ill during the entire trip, and Mr. Mason had, indeed, been seriously ill, developing a high temperature and alarming symptoms. Both were loth to go; their natural grit prompted them to remain and stick it out to the bitter end. They made no unseemly fuss about their tribulations; but things promised to be worse rather than better as the voyage progressed, and it was in their own interests that they were relieved from further suffering. I know how elated I felt that I’d been better favoured by fortune, so I think I know how depressed they must have been. Poor Mooney was a full-sized brick throughout; he showed all the best characteristics of the best sort of Scout, and there was not the slightest fault attaching to him in his inability to endure the rigours. But knowing that the whole weight of Scout responsibility rested on my shoulders was rather a startling realization. Still, I was managing to get hardened by this time, and I hoped for the best.