"Pray hand me yonder bottle," says Adam. "If it be drinkable by any
manner of mortal, I must moisten my throat with it."

After some remonstrances, she takes up a champagne bottle, but is
frightened by the sudden explosion of the cork, and drops it upon
the floor. There the untasted liquor effervesces. Had they quaffed
it they would have experienced that brief delirium whereby, whether
excited by moral or physical causes, man sought to recompense
himself for the calm, life-long joys which he had lost by his revolt
from nature. At length, in a refrigerator, Eve finds a glass
pitcher of water, pure, cold, and bright as ever gushed from a
fountain among the hills. Both drink; and such refreshment does it
bestow, that they question one another if this precious liquid be
not identical with the stream of life within them.

"And now," observes Adam, "we must again try to discover what sort
of a world this is, and why we have been sent hither."

"Why? to love one another," cries Eve. "Is not that employment
enough?"

"Truly is it," answers Adam, kissing her; "but still--I know not--
something tells us there is labor to be done. Perhaps our allotted
task is no other than to climb into the sky, which is so much more
beautiful than earth."

"Then would we were there now," murmurs Eve, "that no task or duty
might come between us!"