"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.
Through the singing in her ears she heard an angry voice.
"Poor youngster, whoever sent her out for water? Seems to me she's earned a rest. Here, sister, help me, will you?"
Then Maria's soft voice came to her.
"Lucia dear, don't look like that!" she cried excitedly. "Here, senor, put her on the bed, so."
She felt herself being lifted ever so gently, and then the soothing comfort of a mattress and a pillow stole over her and she fell sound asleep.
She did not wake up until late in the afternoon. The sun was setting and the long ward was in deep shadow. She opened her eyes for a minute and then closed them again. She was too blissfully comfortable to make any effort.