'Where's that?' I asked.
'Oh, not very far; half a mile at most. It's Saint Lucy's little hospice on the hill there across the valley.'
Afterwards, when I went out and sat on the sunny stoep with him, he showed me the place. I could see a grove of trees standing up on a near ridge and two or three thatched buildings in among them; yes, and a white cross surmounting one of these.
'It looks lonely over there,' I pleaded.
'Oh, I'll come with you,' he said. 'I want to tell you the story of the place before we blow our candle out; it may help the cure.' So when sundown was near, he and three of his native retainers started with me for the Hospice of Saint Lucy, carrying goodly packs every one. I was rather dubious about that expedition.
'I hope it's warm there,' grumbled I to myself. 'If Greenwood's as strong as a horse, I am not so just now. I wish he'd camp at home in peace.'
However, I tried to look interested as they made ready for us to go and delighted, as we started away.
Just as we went across the narrow valley the sun went down behind St. Lucy's hill, and bells or gongs answered one another from either side.
'So you have a bell up there at the Hospital,' I said.
'There's more than you expect to see at the Hospital,' said
Greenwood mysteriously.