‘Mrs West has exhibited a willingness to take confession,’ said Father Xavier, shaking Collis by the hand. ‘I understand that Sister Agnes spoke to her only a few minutes ago.’

‘I see,’ said Collis. He glanced into the open door of the ward, but all he could see was the corner of a bed draped in netting. ‘What did she say? Is she feeling any better?’

Sister Agnes inclined her head a little. ‘She is still feverish, and the headache is troubling her. It is quite certain now that she has yellow fever.’

‘Does she know?’

‘No,’ said Sister Agnes. ‘We find our yellow-fever patients are happier if they are unaware of the nature of their sickness.’

‘What did she say about confession?’ asked Collis.

‘I asked her if she had anything on her mind which she would care to confess, and she indicated that she did.’

Collis swallowed. He had meant to say something, but he wasn’t sure that he could keep his voice steady. Father Xavier’s eyebrows undulated in sympathy.

‘Do you want to talk to her now, Mr Edmonds?’ asked Sister Agnes. ‘I think it would be a good idea, while she is still awake. The illness is exhausting her, and as soon as this is over I think we shall probably give her a sleeping-draught.’

Another nun came to the door of the ward and whispered, ‘Mrs West is still awake, Sister Agnes, but only just. It would be wise to hurry.’

‘Very well,’ said Sister Agnes. ‘Do you want to go in, Mr Edmonds?’

Collis nodded. The nun beckoned him, and he entered the long dim ward, lit only by small orange lamps, where white-faced women lay in two rows of twelve, most of them too ill to sit up or stir. At the very end of the ward, isolated from the rest of the women by gauze-covered screens, lay Hannah, in a white cap and a white robe, her face drawn and her eyes dull.

‘Please don’t be long,’ the nun whispered. ‘She’s very weak.’

Collis drew up a plain wooden chair and sat beside Hannah’s bed, looking at her through the hazy material of the screens. She saw him and gave him a watery, welcoming smile.

‘Collis,’ she said softly.

There was a moment in which they looked at each other through the gauze, and in which they said nothing, nor had any need to say it. That spiritual affinity of which Hannah had spoken was truly there. They hadn’t imagined it. Even now, as Hannah lay ill, Collis felt as natural with her, and as fond of her, as if she had been his wife for years.

‘They asked me if I wanted to confess,’ said Hannah.

‘What did you tell them?’

‘I said yes, I did.’

Collis nervously rubbed at his forehead with his fingertips. ‘It’s not too serious, this illness, you know. Least, that’s what the nuns tell me.’