SCENE VIII.

_Adam and Eve._

_Adam._ These sacrificings, O my best beloved, These rites and forms which you have taught our boys, Which I nor practise nor can understand, Will turn, I trust, to good; but I much fear. Besides the superstitious search of signs In merest accidents of earth and air, They cause, I think, a sort of jealousy— Ill-blood. Hark, now!

_Eve._ O God, whose cry is that? Abel, where is my Abel?

_Adam._ Cain! what, Cain!