A fortnight after, triumphant Orangemen came with loud uproar to destroy the houses of the Catholics. It was scarcely day-break, when Alice was roused from uneasy slumbers by the discharge of musketry, and a lurid light on the walls of her room. Starting up, she beheld Colonel Campbell’s house in a blaze. The beautiful statues of the Madonna and the winged children were knocked to pieces, and crushed under the feet of an angry mob. Vines and flowers crisped under the crackling flames, and the beautiful birds from foreign climes fell suffocated in the smoke, or flew forth, frightened, into woods and fields, and perished by cruel hands. In the green lane, once so peaceful and pleasant, ferocious men were scuffling and trampling, shooting and stabbing. Everywhere the grass and the moss were dabbled with blood. Above all the din, were heard the shrill screams of women and children; and the mother of Camillo came flying into Joseph’s house, exclaiming, “Hide me, oh, hide me!” Alice received her in her arms, laid the throbbing head tenderly on her bosom, put back the hair that was falling in wild disorder over her face, and tried to calm her terror with gentle words. Others came pouring in, and no one was refused shelter. To the women of Colonel Campbell’s household Alice relinquished her own little bedroom, the only corner of the house that was not already filled to overflowing. She drew the curtain, that the afflicted ones need not witness the bloody skirmishing in the fields and lane below. But a loud shriek soon recalled her to their side. Mary Campbell had withdrawn the curtain, and seen her husband fall, thrust at by a dozen swords. Fainting-fits and hysterics succeeded each other in quick succession, while Alice and her mother laid her on the bed, and rubbed her hands and bathed her temples. Gradually the sounds of war died away in the distance. Then Joseph and his helpers went forth to gather up the wounded and the dead. Colonel Campbell was found utterly lifeless, and the brook where Camillo used to launch his little boats, was red with his father’s blood. They brought him in tenderly, washed the ghastly wounds, closed the glaring eyes, and left the widow and the household to mourn over him. Late in the night they persuaded her to go to rest; and, when all was still, the weary family fell asleep on the floor; for not a bed was unoccupied. This time, they hoped to escape the conquerors’ rage. But early in the morning, a party of them came back, and demanded that all the Catholics should be given up to them. Joseph replied, as he had done before: “I cannot give up my helpless and dying neighbours, whether they be Pikemen or Orangemen. I will do good to all, and harm to none, come to me what may.” “That’s impartial, anyhow,” said the captain. He took some Orange cockades from his pocket, and added, “Wear these, and my men will do you no harm.” “I cannot conscientiously wear one,” replied Joseph, “because they are emblems of war.”