character and station of their parents be what it might, the fair dark daughter of O'Brien was not insensible to him, nor to the anxieties he felt. The circumstance which produced the first conversation they ever had, arose from an incident of a very striking and singular character. About a week before the evening in question, one of Bodagh Buie's bee-skeps hived, and the young colony, though closely watched and pursued, directed their course to Fardorougha's house, and settled in the mouth of the chimney. Connor, having got a clean sheet secured them, and was about to commit them to the care of the Bodagh's servants, when it was suggested that the duty of bringing them home devolved on himself, inasmuch as he was told they would not remain, unless placed in a new skep by the hands of the person on whose property they had settled. While on his way to the Bodagh's he was accosted in the following words by one of O'Brien's servants : 46 Connor, there's good luck before you, or the bees would'nt pick you out among all the rest o' the neighbours you ought to hould up your head, man, who knows what manin's in it?" Why do you b'lieve that bees settlin' wid one is a sign o' good luck?" *Surely I do; doesn't every one know it to be thrue? Connor, you're agood-lookin' fellow, an' I need scarcely tell you that we have a purty girl at home; can you lay that an' that together? Arrah, be my sowl, the richest honey ever the same bees 'ill make, is nothin' but Alloways, compared wid that purty mouth of her own! A honey-comb is a fool to it." Why, did you ever thry, Mike ?" "Is it me? Och, och, if I was only high enough in this world, maybe I wouldn't be spakin' sweet to her; no, no, be my word! thry indeed for the likes o' me! Faith, but I know a sartin young man that she does be often spakin' about." Connor's heart was in a state of instant commotion. "Au' who-who is he-who is that sartin young man, Mike ?" "Faith, the son o' one that can run a shillin' farther than e'er another man in the county. Do you happen to be acquaint wid one Connor O'Donovan, of Lisnamona?" Connor O'Donovan-that's good, Mike-in the mane time don't be goin' it on us. No, no;-an' even if she did, it isn't to you she'd spake about any one, Michael ahagur ?" "No, nor it wasn't to me-sure I didn't say it was-but don't you know my sisther's at sarvice in the Bodagh's family? Divil the word o' falsity I'm tellin' you-so, if you haven't the heart to spake for yourself, I wouldn't give knots o' straws for you; and now, there's no harm done I hope-moreover, an' by the same token you needn't go to the throuble o' puttin' up an advertisement to let the parish know what I've tould you." 46 Hut, tut, Mike, it's all folly. Una Dhun O'Brien to think of me! nonsense, man; that cock would never fight." 64 Very well; divil a morsel of us is forcin' you to b'lieve it. I suppose the the fore still. I'd kiss the Bravery you mother o' you has your wooden spoon to didn't come into the world wid a silver ladle in your mouth, anyhow. In the mane time, we're at the Bodagh's— an' have an eye about you afther what you've heard-Nabocklish!" This, indeed, was important intellithat had he not heard it, another opgence to Connor, and it is probable portunity of disclosing his passion might have been lost. Independently of this, however, he was not proof against the popular superstition of the bees, particularly as it appeared to be an augury to which his enamoured heart could cling with all the hope of young and passionate enthusiasm. Nor was it long till he had an opportunity of perceiving that she whose image had floated in light before his fancy, gave decided manifestations of being struck by the same significant Occurrence. On entering the garden, the first person his eye rested on was Una herself, who, as some of the other hives were expected to swarm, had been engaged watching them during the day. His appearance at any time would have created a tumult in her bosom, but, in addition to this, when she heard that the bees which had rested on Connor's house, had swarmed from her own hive, to use the words of Burns "She looked-she reddened like the rose, and with a shy but expressive glance at Connor, said, in a low hurried voice: "these belong to me.” Until the moment we are describing, Connor and she, notwithstanding that they frequently met in public places, had never yet spoken; nor could the words now uttered by Una be considered as addressed to him, although from the glance that accompanied them it was sufficiently evident that they were designed for him alone. It was in vain that he attempted to accost her, his confusion, his pleasure, his timidity, seemed to unite in rendering him incapable of speaking at all. His lips moved several times, but the words, as they arose, died away unspoken. At this moment, Mike, with waggish good humour, and in a most laudable fit of industry, reminded the other servants who had been assisting to secure the bees, that as they (the bees) were now safe, no farther necessity existed for their presence. "Come, boys-death-alive, the day's passin'-only think, Miss Una, that we have all the hay in the Long-shot-meadow to get into cocks yet, an' here we're idlin' an' gostherin' away our time like I dunna what. They're schamin', Miss Una-divil a thing else, an' what'll the masther say if the same meadow's not finished tonight?" Indeed, Mike," replied Una; "if the meadow is to be finished this night, there's little time to be lost." "Come boys," exclaimed Mike, "you hear what Miss Una says if it's to be finished to-night there's little time to be lost-turn out-march. Miss Una can watch the bees widout our help. Good evenin', Misther Donovan; be my word but you're entitled to a taste o' honey any way, for bringin' back Miss Una's bees to her." Mike, after having uttered this significant opinion relative to his sense of justice, drove his fellow-servants out of the garden, and left the lovers together. There was now a dead silence, during the greater part of which, neither dared to look at the other-at length each hazarded a glance, their eyes met, and their embarrassment deepened in a tenfold degree. Una, on withdrawing her gaze, looked with an air of perplexity from oue object to another, and at length with downcast lids, and glowing cheeks, her eyes became fixed on her own white and delicate finger "Who would think," said she, in a voice tremulous with agitation, "that the sting of a bee could be so painful?" Connor advanced towards her with a beating heart, "Where have you been stung, Miss O'Brien ?" said he, in a tone shaken out of its fulness by what he felt. "In the finger," she replied, and she looked closely into the spot as she uttered the words. "Will you let me see it ?" asked Connor. She held her hand towards him without knowing what she did, nor was it till after a strong effort that Connor mastered himself so far as to ask her in which finger she felt the pain. In fact, both saw at once that their minds were engaged upon far different thoughts, and that their anxiety to pour out the full confession of their love was equally deep and mutual. As Connor put the foregoing question to her, he took her hand in his. "In what finger!" she replied, "I the-but what-what is this?—I am don't-indeed-I-I believe in thevery very weak." mer-house, where you can sit," re"Let me support you to the sumturned Connor, still clasping her soft slender waist with the other, he helped delicate hand in his; then circling her her to a seat under the thick shade of the osiers. Una's countenance immediately became pale as death, and her whole frame trembled excessively. "You are too weak even to sit without support," said Connor, "your head is droopin'. For God's sake lean it over on me. Oh, I'd give ten thousand lives to have it on my breast only for one moment." Her paleness still continued; she gazed on him, and as he gently squeezed her hand, a slight pressure was given in return. He then drew her head over upon his shoulder, where it rather fell than leaned; a gush of tears came from her eyes, and the next moment, with sobbing hearts, they were encircled in each other's arms. From this first intoxicating draught of youthful love, they were startled by the voice of Mrs. O'Brien calling upon her daughter, and, at the same time, to their utter dismay, they observed the portly dame sailing, in her usual state, down towards the arbour, with an immense bunch of keys dangling from her side. "Oonagh, Miss-Miss Oonaghwhere are you Miss, Ma Colleen?Here's a litther," she proceeded, when Una appeared, "from Mrs. Fogarty, your school-misthress, to yer fadher statin' that she wants you to finish your Jiggraphy at the dancin', wid a new dancin'-tacher from Dubling. Why Eah! what ails you, Miss, Ma Colleen? What the dickens wor you cryin' for?" "These nasty bees that stung me," returned the girl; "oh, for goodness sake, mother dear, don't come any farther, except you wish to have a whole hive upon you!" "Why, sure, they would'nt sting any one that wont meddle wid them," replied the mother in a kind of alarm. "The sorra pin they care, motherdon't come near them; I'll be in, by an' by-where's my father ?" "He's in the house, an' wants you to answer Mrs. Fogarty, statin' fedher you'll take a month's larnin' on the fure or not." “Well, I'll see her letter in a minute or two, but you may tell my father he needn't wait-I wont answer it tonight at all events." You must answer it on the nail," replied her mother, "becase the messager's waitin' in the kitching 'ithin." That alters the case altogether," returned Una, "and I'll follow you immediately." The good woman then withdrew, having once more enjoined the daughter to avoid delay, and not detain the mes senger. "You must go instantly," said she to Connor; "ob, what would happen me if they knew that I lov― that I a short pause ensued, and she blushed deeply. "Say what you were goin' to say," returned Connor; "oh say that one word, and all the misfortunes that ever happened to man, can't make me unhappy! Oh God! an' is it possible. Say that word-oh! say it-say it!" "Well then," she continued, "if they knew that I love the son of Fardorougha Donovan, what would become of me? Now, go for fear my father may come out." But when will I see you, again?" “ Go,” said she, anxiously; “go, you can easily see me." "But when?-when? say on Thursday." "Not so soon-not so soon," and she cast an anxious eye towards the garden gate. "When then?-say this day week." "Very well-but go-maybe my father has heard from the servants that you are here." Dusk is the best time." alders, in the little green field behind the garden.” "Shew me the wounded finger," said he with a smile, "before I go." "There," said she, extending her hand; "but for heaven's sake go." "I'll tell you how to cure it," said he, tenderly; "honey is the medicine; put that sweet finger to your own sweeter lip-and, afterwards, I'll carry home the wound." 66 But not the medicine, now," said she, and, snatching her hand from his, with light fearful steps, she fled up the garden and disappeared. Such, gentle reader, were the circumstances which brought our young and artless lovers together, in the black twilight of the singularly awful and ominous evening which we have already described. Connor, on reaching the appointed spot, sat down; but his impatience soon and fro, under the alders, he asked himovercame him; and while hurrying to self in what was this wild but rapturous attachment to terminate? That the proud Bodagh, and his prouder wife, would never suffer their beautiful daughter, the heiress of all their wealth, to marry the son of Fardorougha the miser, was an axiom, the truth of which pressed upon his heart with a deadly weight. On the other hand, would his father, or rather could he, change his nature so far as to establish him in life, provided Una and he were united without the consent of her parents. Alas! he knew his father's parsimony too well; and, on either hand he was met by difficulties that appeared to him to be insurmountable. But again, came the delightful and ecstatic consciousness, that let their parents act as they might, Una's heart and his were bound to each other by ties, which, only to think of, was rapture. In the midst of these reflections, he heard her light foot approach, but with a step more slow and melancholy than he could have expected from the ardour of their love. When she approached, the twilight was just sufficient to enable him to perceive that her face was pale, and tinged apparently with melancholy, if not with sorrow. After the first salutations were over, he was proceeding to enquire into the cause of her depression, when, to his utter surprise, she placed her hands upon her face, and burst into a fit of grief. Those who have loved need not be told that the most delightful office of Yes-yes-about dusk; under the that delightful passion is to dry the tears of the beloved one who is dear to us beyond all else that life contains. Connor literally performed this office, and enquired, in a tone so soothing and full of sympathy-why she wept? that her tears for a while only flowed the faster. At length her grief abated, and she was able to reply to him. "You ask me why I am crying," said the fair young creature; “but, indeed, I cannot tell you. There has been a sinking of the heart upon me during the greater part of this day. When I thought of our meeting I was delighted, but again some heaviness would come over me that I can't account for." "I know what it is," replied Connor, "a very simple thing; merely the terrible calm an' blackness of the evenin'. I was sunk myself a little." "I ought to cry for a better reason," she returned; "in meeting you I have done-an' am doing-what I ought to be sorry for that is a wrong action that my conscience condemns." "There is nobody perfect, my dear Una," said Connor; "an' none without their failins'; they have little to answer for that have no more than you." "Don't flatter me," she replied; "if you love me as you say, never flatter me while you live; I will always speak what I feel, and I hope you'll do the same." "If I could spake what I feel," said he, "you would still say I flattered you it's not in the power of any words that ever were spoken, to telt how I love you-how much my heart an' soul's fixed upon you. Little you know, my own dear Una, how unhappy I am this minute, to see you in low spirits—what do you think is the occasion of it? Spake now, as you say you will do, that is, as you feel." "Except it be that my heart brought me to meet you to-night contrary to my conscience, I do not know; Connor, Connor, that heart is so strongly in your favour, that if you were not to be happy neither could its poor owner." Connor for a moment looked into the future, but like the face of the sky above him, all was either dark or stormy; his heart sank, but the tenderness expressed in Una's last words filled his whole soul with a vehement and burning passion which he felt must regulate his destiny in life, whether for good or evil. He pulled her to his breast, on which he placed her head; she looked up fondly to him, and perteiving that he wrought under some deep and powerful struggle, said in a low confiding voice, whilst the tears once more ran quietly down her cheeks, "Connor, what I said is true." "My heart's burnin' my heart's burnin'," he exclaimed, "it's not love I feel for you, Una-it's more than love; oh what is it? Una, Una, this I know that I cannot long live without you, or from you; if I did, I'd go wild or mad through the world. For the last three years you have never been out of my mind, I may say awake or asleep; for I believe a night never passed during that time that I didn't drame of you-of the beautiful young crature-oh! God in heaven, can it be thrue, that she loves me at last. Say them blessed words again, Una; oh say them again; but I'm too happyI can hardly bear this delight.” "It is true that I love you, and if our parents could think as we do, Connor, how easy would it be for them to make us happy, but—” "It's too soon, Una; it's too soon to spake of that. Happy! don't we love one another? Is n't that happiness? who or what can deprive us of that? We are happy without them; we can be happy in spite of them; oh, my own fair girl; sweet, sweet life of my life, and heart of my heart; heavenheaven itself would be no heaven to me, if you were n't with me!” "Don't say that, Connor dear; it's wrong; let us not forget what is due to religion, if we expect our love to prosper. You may think this strange from one that has acted contrary to religion in coming to meet you against the will and knowledge of her parents; but beyond that, dear Connor, I hope I will never go. But is it true that you've loved me so long?" "It is," said he; "the second Sunday in May next was three years, I knelt opposite you at Mass. You were on the left hand side of the Althar, I was on the right; my eyes were never off you; indeed you may remember it.” "I have a good right," said she blushing and hiding her face on his shoulder. "I ought to be ashamed to acknowledge it, an' me so young at the time; little more than sixteen. From that day to this, my story has been just your own. Connor, can you tell me how I found it out, but I knew you loved me?" Many a thing was to tell you that, Una dear; sure my eyes were never off you, whenever you wor near me, an で wherever you were there was I certain to be too. I never miss'd any public place if I thought you would be at it, an' that merely for the sake of seein' you; an' now will you tell me why it was that I could 'a sworn you lov'd me?" "You have answered for us both," she replied; "as for me, if I only chanced to hear your name mentioned my heart would beat; if the talk was about you I could listen to nothing else, and I often felt the colour come and go on my cheek." Una, I never thought I could be born to such happiness. Now that I know you love me, I ean hardly think it was love I felt for you all along; it's wonderful-it's wonderful." "What is so wonderful?" she inquired. Why, the change that I feel since knowin' that you love me; since I had it from your own lips, it has overcome me-I'machild-I'm anything,anything you choose to make me-it was never love-it's only since I found you loved me that my heart's burnin' as it is." "I'll make you happy if I can," she replied, “and keep you so, I hope." There's one thing that will make me still happier than I am," said Con nor. "What is it? if it's proper and right I'll do it." "Promise me that if I live you'll never marry any one else than me." You wish then to have the promise all on one side;" she replied with a smile and blush, each as sweet as ever captivated a human heart. "No, no, no, my darling Una, acushla gra gal machree no; I'll promise the same to you." She paused, and a silence of nearly a minute ensued. "I don't know that it's right, Connor; I have taken one wrong step as it is, but, well as I love you, I won't take another; whatever I do I must feel that it's proper. I'm not sure that this is." "Don't you say you love me, Una?" "I do; you know I do." "I have only another question to ask; could you, or would you, love me as you do, an' marry another ?" "I could not, Connor, and would not, and will not. I am ready to protuise; I may easily do it; for God knows the very thought of marrying another, or being deprived of you, is more than I can bear." "Well, then," returned her lover, seizing her hand; "I take God to wit ness that, whilst you are alive an faithful to me, I will never marry any woman but yourself. Now," he continued, "put your right hand into mine, and say the same words." She did so, and was in the act of repeating the form, "I take God to witness- when a vivid flash of lightning shot from the darkness above them, and a peal of thunder almost immediately followed with an explosion so loud as nearly to stun both. Una started with terror, and instinctively withdrew her hand from Connor's. "God preserve us," she exclaimed, "that's awful. Connor, I feel as if the act I am goin' to do is not right. Let us put it off at all events, till another time." "Is it because there comes an accidental brattle of thunder?" he returned. "Why the thunder would come if we were never to change a promise. You have mine, now, Una dear, an' I'm sure you wouldn't wish me to be bound an' yourself free. Don't be afraid, darling; give me your hand, an' don't tremble so; repeat the words at wanst, an' let it be over." He again took her hand, when she repeated the form in a distinct, though feeble voice, observing when it was concluded, 66 Now, Connor, I did this to satisfy you, but I still feel like one who has done a wrong action. I am yours now, but I can't help praying to God that it may end happily for us both." 66 It must, darling Una-it must end happily for us both. How can it be otherwise? For my part, except to see you my wife, I couldn't be happier than I am this minute; exceptin' that, my heart has all it wished for. Is it possible! Oh! is it possible, that this is not a dream, my heart's life-but if it is—if it is I never more will wish to waken." Her young lover was deeply affected as he uttered these words, nor was Una proof against the emotion they produced. I could pray to God, this moment with a purer heart than I ever had before," he proceeded, "for makin' my lot in life so happy. I feel that I am better and freer from sin than I ever was yet. If we're faithful and true to one another what can the world do to us?" "I could n't be otherwise than faithful to you," she replied, " without being unhappy myself, and I trust it's no sin to love each other as we do. Now let us- -God bless me, what - |