The heavy artillery fire had let up a little, and the shells were not quite so many.

Lucia started to run.  She had made up her mind earlier in the day that if she moved fast enough she would escape being hurt.  She unconsciously blamed the slowness of the Italian soldier for his injury.  She passed her cottage half-way down the hill.  It was still standing, but a shell had dropped on the little goat-shed and blown it to pieces.  One of the uprights and the door, which was made of stout branches lashed together with cord, still stood.  The door flapped drearily and added to the desolation of the scene.

Lucia did not stop to investigate the damage, but hurried ahead.  She was afraid the light would fade before she reached the wounded soldier.

At the end of the road in the bottom of the valley she was just between both sides, the shells dropped all about her and she stood still, bewildered and frightened.

The high mountains on either side made sounding boards for the noise, and the roar of the guns seemed to double in volume.

“Lie down!”

A voice almost under her foot made her jump, and she saw the Italian soldier.  She did as he commanded, and he pulled her towards him.

He was very weak, and when he moved one leg dragged behind him.  He tried to crawl with Lucia into the shell hole close by.  She saw what he was doing and did her best to help.  When they finally rolled down into the shell hole, the man groaned.

Lucia could feel that his forehead was wet with great drops of perspiration.  She found his water bottle and gave him a drink.

“What’s happened?” he asked, speaking close to her ear.

Lucia told him as much as she knew.

“Then the bridge has gone?” There was hope in his voice.

“Gone for good.  They can never cross it, and our men are just over there.”

“How can I get you back?” she asked.  “The convent is so far away.”

The soldier shook his head.  “You can’t.  We are caught here between the two fires, it would be certain death to move.  What made you come back?”

“To find you,” Lucia replied.  “I could not come sooner, there was so much to do.  I even forgot you, but when I remembered, I ran all the way and now I am helpless.”

“Don’t give up,” the Italian replied.  “You must have courage for both of us, for I am useless.  My leg has been badly injured by a piece of shell, and I cannot even crawl.”

“Then there is nothing to do but wait for the light,” Lucia was trembling all over.  “Oh, what a long day it has been!”

“But the dawn will come soon,” the soldier tried to cheer her, “and then perhaps the stretcher-bearers will find us.  If they do not—­”

“If they do not, I will find a way to take you to the convent,” Lucia replied with sudden spirit, and with the same determination that had resulted in her blowing up the bridge, she added to herself: