She smiled and answered, “I thank thee for thy friendly caution; but I trust in the Power that has hitherto protected me.” After a short pause, he said, “Your place of meeting is two miles from here. Where is the horse you used to ride?” “A soldier took it from me, as I rode from meeting several weeks ago,” she replied. “You see then it is, as I have said, unsafe for you to go,” he rejoined. “Had you not better turn back?” With great earnestness she answered, “Friend Camillo, I cannot otherwise than go. Our people are afflicted and bowed down. The soldiers have nearly consumed our provisions. Our women are almost worn out with the fatigue of constant nursing and perpetual alarms. All are not unwavering in their faith. It is the duty of the strong to sustain the weak; and therefore it is needful that we meet together for counsel and consolation.” The young man looked at her with affectionate reverence. The fair complexion and shining ringlets of childhood were gone, but a serene and deep expression of soul imparted a more elevated beauty to her countenance. He parted from her with a blessing, simply and fervently uttered; but he entered the adjoining fields, and as he walked along he kept her within sight until she arrived safely at the place of meeting. While he thus watched her unseen, he recollected how often his taste had been offended by the quaint awkwardness of the Quaker garb; and uttering aloud the sequel to his thoughts, he said, “But beautiful and graceful will her garments be in heaven.” Soon after this interview, he departed with a strong escort to convey his mother and other Catholic women into a less turbulent district. Alice bade them farewell with undisguised sadness; for we learn to love those whom we serve, and there seemed little probability that they would ever return to reside in that troubled neighborhood. The next time she saw Camillo, he was brought into her father’s house on a litter, senseless, and wounded, as it was supposed, unto death. All the restoratives they could think of were applied, and at last, as Alice bent over him, bathing his temples, he opened his eyes with a dull unconscious stare, which gradually relaxed into a feeble smile, as he whispered, “My Quaker lady-bird.” Some hours afterward, when she brought him drink, he gently pressed her hand, and said, “Thank you, dear Alice.” The words were simple, but the expression of his eyes and the pressure of his hand sent a thrill through the maiden, which she had never before experienced. That night, she dreamed of winged children seen through flowering vines, and Camillo laughed when the parrot called her “Lady-bird.”