Wady Halfa. For him nothing
remained of the desperate journey but a couple of scars.

It was different with Macnamara. He had to take a longer journey still.
He was not glad to do it, for he liked the look of the English faces
round him, and he liked what they said to him. Also, he was young enough
to "go a-roaming still," as he said to Henry Withers. Besides, it sorely
hurt his pride that no woman or child of his would be left behind to
lament him. Still, when Henry told him he had to go, he took it like a
man.

"'Ere, it ain't no use," said Henry to him the day he got to Wady Halfa.
"'Ere, old pal, it ain't no use. You 'ave to take your gruel, an' you
'ave to take it alone. What I want to tell yer quiet and friendly, old
pal, is that yer drawfted out--all the way out--for good."

"'Sh-did ye think I wasn't knowin' it, me b'y?" Macnamara's face
clouded. "Did ye think I wasn't knowin' it? Go an' lave me alone," he
added quickly.

Henry Withers went out pondering, for he was sure it was not mere dying
that fretted Macnamara.

The next day the end of it all came. Henry Withers had pondered, and his
mind was made up to do a certain thing. Towards evening he sat alone in
the room where Macnamara lay asleep--almost his very last sleep. All
at once Macnamara's eyes opened wide. "Kitty, Kitty, me darlin'," he
murmured vaguely. Then he saw Henry Withers.

"I'm dyin'," he said, breathing heavily. "Don't call anny one, Hinry,"
he added brokenly. "Dyin's that aisy--aisy enough, but for wan thing."

"'Ere, speak out, Pete."

"Sure, there's no wan but you, Withers, not a wife nor a child av me own
to say, 'Poor Peter Macnamara, he is gone."'

"There's one," said Henry Withers firmly. "There's one, old pal."

"Who's that?" said Macnamara huskily. "Kitty."

"She's no wife," said Macnamara, shaking his head. "Though she'd ha'
been that, if it hadn't been for Mary Malone."

"She's mine, an' she 'as the marriage lines," said Henry Withers. "An'
there's a kid-wich ain't mine--born six months after! 'Oo says no
kid won't remark, 'Poor Peter Macnamara, 'ee is gone, wich'ee was my
fader!"'

Macnamara trembled; the death-sweat dropped from his forehead as he
raised himself up.

"Kitty--a kid av mine--and she married to Hinry Withers--an' you saved
me, too!--" Macnamara's eyes were wild.

Henry Withers took his hand.

"'Ere, it's all right, old pal," he said cheerfully. "What's the kid's
name?" said Macnamara. "Peter--sam