e Roderigo sway, and just before they
reached the bridge he fell forward. Lucia crouched down beside him,
and begged and pulled until he was on the bridge.

"Now where is it? Tell me what to do," she begged, "see they are
almost here."

With a tremendous effort Roderigo pulled himself to the edge of the
bridge and located the mine. In a voice that was so weak that Lucia
could hardly hear it he gave the directions. Lucia obeyed.

"When will it go off?" she demanded. "Will we have time to get away?"

Roderigo shrugged his shoulders.

"You will," he said. "Run as fast as you can, I don't know how long it
will take."

Lucia did not wait to argue. She caught him under his arms and dragged
him back to the convent as fast as she could.

Roderigo had given up all hope, but as they drew nearer to the door of
the convent, the wish to live asserted itself, and he got to his feet
and ran with Lucia. They did not stop until they were safe on the road
beyond. The last inhabitant of Cellino was out of sight, and it seemed
as if they were alone.

They waited, Lucia supporting Roderigo's head in her arms.

The explosion came, there was a crash, and then a great shaking of the
earth. Lucia listened, her eyes flashing.

"Wait here," she said to Roderigo, "I will return at once." She ran
hurriedly back to the convent and down again to the door.

The old bridge was ruined. Great pieces of it were torn out and had
fallen high on the banks. The center span was entirely gone, and the
river, broad and impassable, ran smoothly between the jagged ends.

Lucia did not stand long in contemplation of the scene before her. She
hurried back to the road. A sister was beside Roderigo, and Lucia went
to her.

"It is not safe back in there," she said, pointing to the convent. "A
shell may hit it."

The sister nodded.

"It hardly matters," she replied quietly. "No place is safe. We will
take him there; he is too ill to be carried far."

Lucia agreed, and between them they carried the unconscious Roderigo
back to the ward and laid him gently on one of the beds.

Sister Francesca turned back the cuffs of her robe and began doing what
she could. As she worked she talked.

"We were all ordered to leave," she said; "but when we were well along
the road I turned back. It seemed so cowardly to go when we were most
needed. The rest thought that by night the Austrians would be in
possession, but I could not believe it."