“What! what! Una,” exclaimed the Bodagh, “Una--” But ere he could complete the question, the timid creature fell senseless upon the floor. For a long time she lay in that friendly trance, for such, in truth, it was to a delicate being, subjected to an ordeal so painful as that she was called upon to pass through. We have, indeed, remarked that there is in the young, especially in those of the softer sex, a feeling of terror, and shame, and confusion, when called upon by their parents to disclose a forbidden passion, that renders its avowal perhaps the most formidable task which the young heart can undergo. It is a fearful trial for the youthful, and one which parents ought to conduct with surpassing delicacy and tenderness, unless they wish to drive the ingenuous spirit into the first steps of falsehood and deceit. “Father,” said John, “I think you may rest satisfied with what you witness; and I am sure it cannot make you or mother happy to see poor Una miserable.” Una, who had been during the greater part of her swoon supported in her weeping and alarmed mother's arms, now opened her eyes, and, after casting an affrighted look about the room, she hid her face in her mother's bosom, and exclaimed, as distinctly as the violence of sobbing grief would permit her: “Oh, mother dear, have pity on me! bring me up stairs and I will tell you.” “I do, I do pity you,” said the mother, kissing her; “I know you'll be a good girl yet, Oona.” “Una,” said her father, placing his hand gently on her shoulder, “was I ever harsh to you, or did I--” “Father dear,” she returned, interrupting him, “I would have told you and my mother, but that I was afraid.” There was something so utterly innocent and artless in this reply, that each of the three persons present felt sensibly affected by its extreme and childlike simplicity. “Don't be afraid of me, Una,” continued the Bodagh, “but answer--me truly, like a good girl, and I swear upon my reputation, that I won't be angry. Do you love the son of this Fardorougha?” “Not, father, because he's Fardorougha's son,” said Una, whose face was still hid in her mother's bosom; “I would rather he wasn't.” “But you do love him?” “For three years he has scarcely been out of my mind.” Something that might be termed a smile crossed the countenance of the Bodagh at this intimation. “God help you for a foolish child!” said he; “you're a poor counsellor when left to defend your own cause.” “She won't defend it by a falsehood, at all events,” observed her trustworthy and affectionate brother. “No, she wouldn't,” said the mother; “and I did her wrong a while ago, to say that she'd schame anything about it.” “And are you and Connor O'Donovan promised to aich other?” inquired the father again. “But it wasn't I that proposed the promise,” returned Una. “Oh, the desperate villain,” exclaimed her father, “to be guilty of such a thing! but you took the promise Una--you did--you did--I needn't ask.” “No,” replied Una.