rs ago, he had been working on a town
station. He was a dark, lean, rather ascetic-looking person, not
very talkative. I remembered the days when I had fought shy of
him; we had seemed to disagree on so many subjects, and he had
seemed to resent disagreement so intensely. But he had written me
two or three most friendly letters of late, and that nigh?, when
I came to his door so sick and sorry, he seemed to be kindness
itself. I soon revived by his fireside, ate my supper, and smoked
and talked with him to my great content. We were speaking about
roughing it, and told many camp-fire and roadside tales. As I
told and listened, I seemed to be my old self of a year ago once
more, tough and dogged, and rather sinfully contemptuous of
mosquitoes and malaria. Yet I had but a poor night after all, and
the yawning and shuddering chills came on with vigor at Church in
the early morning. I went back to my blankets after an aguish
breakfast, and Greenwood dosed me and told me to go to sleep. He
spoke with authority, and I obeyed. I did not wake up till the
early afternoon. I seemed to have lost much weight in those last
steaming hours, and also, to my joy, the fever.

'I hope I'll sleep well to-night and get an early start to-morrow
after all,' I said to Greenwood. He looked at me rather intently
with his resolute grey eyes.

'The fever is gone for the time,' he said, 'but I don't like the
look of your eyes at all. If I were you, I'd change your room
to-night and sleep in the Hospital.'

'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