‘I’m afraid that’s a common sight,’ said the nun. ‘The rains have been very heavy this year, and when the rains are heavy, the yellow fever is bad.’

‘I don’t know how you have the nerve to stay here.’

The nun smiled. ‘God protects us from the fever until He is ready to take us into His arms.’

‘Have many sisters died?’

She nodded. ‘I have been blessed with a long stay here. I came here in 1855, when the railroad was finished. There were twelve other sisters with me, all from Antwerp. Only three of those twelve are still alive.’

‘What’s your name?’ asked Collis. He could hardly believe her quiet resignation, and what, to him, seemed like suicidal folly.

‘Sister Agnes,’ she said simply. She kept her hands in her lap. They were small, heart-shaped hands, but they were rough from cleaning and working. Her face, in her wide-winged coif, was almost pretty; but it was sallow with tiredness and ill health. Collis watched her with sympathy, but he didn’t know what else he could say to her. He wasn’t used to talking to women with whom it was impossible to flirt.

There was a small group of women sitting on the sea-wall, close to where it ended. They were smoking, and laughing among themselves. They wore flounced skirts of striped muslin, tied tight around their bare brown waists, and loose-fitting white muslin quipil, sparkling with gold and silver paillettes, over their bare breasts. Several of them wore crimson or yellow flowers in their hair.

As the black donkey trap passed, the women waved and called out greetings to Sister Agnes, who gave a modest wave in return. ‘May the Lord bless you, señoras,’ she called.

‘You seem to know everybody,’ Collis said.

Sister Agnes nodded. ‘Two years is a long time to stay alive in Panama. After the first year, when they’re sure you’re going to survive for long enough to make it worth their while getting to know you, you’d be surprised how friendly they are. But so many die in the first month.’

They approached at last the grounds of the Hospital of the Sacred Heart, overlooking the bay, on a small hill. The hospital was surrounded by a high white wall with a tiled top, and its gardens were serene and quiet and shaded by trees and plants. The building itself had been converted from an old mission, with a wide porch, and a red-tiled veranda that ran around it on three sides. The windows were open to catch the sea winds, and inside Collis could see rows of iron beds where the sick lay dying, or hoping not to die, or gradually recovering.

Collis helped Sister Agnes down from the donkey trap. She led the way inside, through double oak doors into a gloomy tiled hall-way. On the wall directly ahead of them hung a large crucifix, with a mahogany Christ suffering on the cross; and beneath it, on the dark Spanish-oak chest stood a brass jug filled with yellow tropical flowers. There was a smell of soap and boiling vegetables, as the nuns prepared the patients’ evening meal.