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.” 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 intended for him alone. It was in vain that he attempted to accost her; his confusion, her 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-humor, 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 further 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' ghosther--in' 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 to--night?” “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 but 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 bringing 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 one object to another, and at length, with downcast lids, and glowing cheeks, her eyes became fixed on her own white and delicate finger.