“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.

“An’ 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 country.  Do you happen to be acquainted 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 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 sister’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 trouble o’ puttin’ up an advertisement to let the parish know what I’ve tould you.”

“Hut, tut, Mike, it’s all folly.  Una Dhun O’Brien to think of me!—­nonsense, man; that cock would never fight.”

“Very well; divil a morsel of us is forcin’ you to b’lieve it.  I suppose the mother o’ you has your wooden spoon to the fore still.  I’d kiss the Bravery you 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 intelligence to Connor, and it is probable that, had he not heard it, another opportunity 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 enamored 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 upon 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,
     Syne pale as ony lily,

and, with a shy but expressive glance at Connor, said, in a low hurried voice, “These belong to me.”