“Oh, look!” She stopped abruptly and put her hand over her eyes.

A great cloud of fire followed a terrific report, and from the distance of the hill it looked as if the whole town of Cellino was in flames.

The Italian snatched a field glass that lay on the ground beside the wounded man, and put it to his eyes.  Then without a word he dashed off.  Lucia followed him.  A giant tree grew between two huge rocks a little further up the mountain, and the Italian climbed up it.

Lucia watched him, and for the first time she noticed that several wires were strung along and ended high up in its branches.  She heard the Italian calling some directions, and knew that a telephone must be hidden somewhere in the tree.  She could make nothing of the orders; they were mostly numbers, and she waited impatiently until he returned to her.

“Stay here,” he said quickly, “and lie down flat—­don’t move.  The Austrians are advancing on the other side of the river, and Cellino will fall if the bridge is not blown up.”

“But who can get to it?” Lucia demanded.

“I can; it is mined.  If I can reach it we may drive them back.”

He did not wait to say more.

Lucia watched him impatiently as he stumbled and slid clumsily down the rough trail below her.  The shells were coming nearer and nearer, and the air was filled with brilliant fire.

She watched the man every second, afraid to lose track of him.  At the base of the rock he fell.  She caught her breath and shouted aloud when he picked himself up and stumbled on.  He reached the road and was just starting across the little path that led to the river, when a shell exploded so near him that the smoke hid him completely from view.

CHAPTER IX

THE BRIDGE

It was several minutes before Lucia saw him again; he was lying flat, a little to one side of the road, and he was very still.  She waited, hoping against hope to see him move, and fighting against the horrible thought that filled her mind.

“He is dead,” she exclaimed, terrified, “and they are moving; and the bridge!”

Without another thought she got up and very carefully started down the descent, her mind concentrated on the bridge.  She did not attempt to go to the road, but kept to the shelter of the rocks, and a little to one side of the fire.  The shells were bursting all around her, but she was above the range of the guns, and comparatively safe.

She hurried as fast as she could, but it was hard to keep the direction, in all the noise and blinding flames.  She did not dare to look towards Cellino, or think what that hideous column of smoke might mean.

At last she reached the river, and the bridge was in sight a little distance ahead.  It was an old stone bridge, and wide enough for men to walk four abreast.  At that point the river was very wide and the bridge was made in three arches.  It looked very substantial, and Lucia stopped, suddenly terrified by the thought that she did not have the slightest idea how or where to blow it up.