It is a day and a night, now, that he has slept. We found him by his
altar in his field, that morning, his face and body drenched in
blood. He said his eldest brother struck him down. Then he spoke no
more and fell asleep. We laid him in his bed and washed the blood
away, and were glad to know the hurt was light and that he had no
pain; for if he had had pain he would not have slept.
It was in the early morning that we found him. All day he slept that
sweet, reposeful sleep, lying always on his back, and never moving,
never turning. It showed how tired he was, poor thing. He is so good
and works so hard, rising with the dawn and laboring till the dark.
And now he is overworked; it will be best that he tax himself less,
after this, and I will ask him; he will do anything I wish.
All the day he slept. I know, for I was always near, and made dishes
for him and kept them warm against his waking. Often I crept in and
fed my eyes upon his gentle face, and was thankful for that blessed
sleep. And still he slept on--slept with his eyes wide; a strange
thing, and made me think he was awake at first, but it was not so,
for I spoke and he did not answer. He always answers when I speak.
Cain has moods and will not answer, but not Abel.
I have sat by him all the night, being afraid he might wake and want
his food. His face was very white; and it changed, and he came to
look as he had looked when he was a little child in Eden long ago,
so sweet and good and dear. It carried me back over the abyss of
years, and I was lost in dreams and tears--oh, hours, I think. Then
I came to myself; and thinking he stirred, I kissed his cheek to
wake him, but he slumbered on and I was disappointed. His cheek was
cold. I brought sacks of wool and the down of birds and covered him,
but he was still cold, and I brought more. Adam has come again, and
says he is not yet warm. I do not understand it.