forward. She found it and pushed frantically against it. It was
locked, the only other opening being a window higher up.

Lucia looked at it in despair. It was her only chance. The glass had
been smashed by the impact of the bursting shells and lay in broken
bits under her feet. She could just reach the ledge with her hands,
and the stone felt warm. The wall was rough and uneven, and after a
struggle she managed to find a foothold and pulled herself up. The
jagged glass still in the casement cut her hands, but she did not stop
to think about it. Once inside she ran along the dark corridor and up
the few steps that led to the first floor. The big iron doors were
open, and she caught her first sight of the town.

The convent was just outside, and on the road that led south a great
stream of people carrying every size of bundles, was hurrying along.
Lucia recognized some of them, but the faces she most longed to see
were not there.

She turned away, for the sight seemed to drain all her courage, and she
longed to run after them, but the memory of that moving mass of
soldiers made her true to her trust, and she hurried through the
convent, calling for aid.

At the farthest door she discovered several of the sisters hurrying
about and trying to clear the big ward filled with wounded soldiers.
They had been brought in that morning, and some of them were very ill
indeed. The sisters were carrying them out on improvised stretchers.
Those who were able to stand up staggered along as best they could by
themselves. Lucia saw one boy leaning heavily against the door, and
ran to him.