"I wonder if we are alone in the world," she continues, with a sense
of something like fear at the thought of other inhabitants. This
lovely little form! Did it ever breathe? Or is it only the shadow
of something real, like our pictures in the mirror?"

"It is strange!" replies Adam, pressing his hand to his brow. "There
are mysteries all around us. An idea flits continually before me,--
would that I could seize it! Eve, Eve, are we treading in the
footsteps of beings that bore a likeness to ourselves? If so,
whither are they gone?--and why is their world so unfit for our
dwelling-place?"

"Our great Father only knows," answers Eve. "But something tells me
that we shall not always be alone. And how sweet if other beings
were to visit us in the shape of this fair image!"

Then they wander through the house, and everywhere find tokens of
human life, which now, with the idea recently suggested, excite a
deeper curiosity in their bosoms. Woman has here left traces of her
delicacy and refinement, and of her gentle labors. Eve ransacks a
work-basket and instinctively thrusts the rosy tip of her finger
into a thimble. She takes up a piece of embroidery, glowing with
mimic flowers, in one of which a fair damsel of the departed race
has left her needle. Pity that the Day of Doom should have
anticipated the completion of such a useful task! Eve feels almost
conscious of the skill to finish it. A pianoforte has been left
open. She flings her hand carelessly over the keys, and strikes out
a sudden melody, no less natural than the strains of the AEolian
harp, but joyous with the dance of her yet unburdened life. Passing