Garibaldi, freed from her harness, was lying down in the sunshine, and as Lucia watched her she saw a familiar figure running towards her.  She saw it stop and pat the goat.  With a cry of joy she recognized Maria, bedraggled and muddy, but without doubt Maria.  She ran forward to meet her.

“Maria, where have you come from?” she called as the older girl threw herself into her out-stretched arms and began to cry.

“Oh, from miles and miles away!  I have been running since late last night,” she sobbed.

“But what has happened?  Beppi, Nana, are they safe?” Lucia demanded.

“Yes, yes, they are all safe with mother,” Maria replied.

“Then why did you come back?” Lucia persisted.

“Oh, I could not bear it!” Maria tried to stifle her sobs.  “All yesterday, as we ran away from the guns, I kept thinking—­back there, there is work and I am running away.  I knew that you were here, and I thought you were killed.  Nana was half crazy with fear and we could get nothing out of her.”

“But Beppi, he is safe, and aunt is taking care of him?” Lucia insisted.

“Oh, he is safe, of course, and so excited over his adventure, but he was crying for you last night, and we had hard work to comfort him.”

Maria paused, and Lucia looked into her eyes.  There was a question there and she knew that her cousin did not give voice to it.  She put her arm around her and led her back towards the convent.

“Come,” she said, smiling with something of her old mischievousness.  “There is much to be done, and I will take you to Sister Francesca.  She will tell you where to begin.”

Maria followed her.

Lucia went back to the ward and did not stop until she stood beside Roderigo’s bed.  He was asleep, but his brows were drawn together in a worried frown.  Lucia put her finger on her lip and turned to her cousin and pointed.  Maria looked; a glad light came into her eyes, and without a sound she fell on her knees beside the bed.

Lucia left her and went over to Sister Francesca.  She was awfully tired, and her arms were numb, but she did not dare stop for fear she would not be able to begin again.

“What can I do?” she asked.

Sister Francesca pointed to two empty buckets.  “Go out to the well and fill those.  We need more water badly,” she said, without looking up.

Lucia picked up the pails and walked to the end of the room, through a little side door and into a cloister.  In the center of it was an old well that she worked by turning an iron wheel.

Lucia drew the water and poured it into her pails, and started back with them.  It had been all her tired arm could do to lift the empty ones, but now each step made sharp pains go up to her shoulders.  She staggered along with them, fighting hard against the dizziness in her head, but when she was half-way down the ward everything began to swim before her.  She swayed, lost her balance, and would have fallen had not a strong arm caught her.  The pails fell to the floor, the water splashing over the tops.