"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."

She was a little woman with a soft voice and big blue eyes, and she
spoke with such gentle assurance that Lucia felt comforted.

"They will not come to-night," she said, "for the bridge is down, and
our troops will surely be able to force them back."

Sister Francesca nodded.

"I hope so. At any rate, there will be wounded and my place is here."

At the word "wounded," the vivid picture of the smoke-choked valley,
the shell explosion, and the still form of the Italian soldier flashed
before Lucia's mind.

"What am I doing here?" she said impatiently. "There are wounded now
and perhaps we can save them."