“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 tell 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 tonight contrary to my conscience, I do not know. Connor, Connor, that heart is so strongly in your favor, 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, perceiving 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 live long 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 happy--I can hardly bear this delight.” “It is true that I love you, and if our parents could think as we do, Connor, how easy it would 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? Isn'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! Heaven--heaven itself would be no heaven to me, if you weren'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 never will 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 altar, I was on the right; my eyes were never off you; indeed, you may remember it.”