t
please come into my room quietly; I don't like being woke up after three
in the morning, as I was yesterday." And she went, slamming the door
behind her.

Morris went also with hanging head and guilty step to his accustomed
haunt in the old chapel. He knew that he was doing wrong; he could
sympathise with Mary's indignation. Yet he was unable to resist, he must
see again, must drink once more of that heavenly cup.

And he failed. Was it the champagne? Was it Mary's sharp words which had
ruffled him? Was it that he had not allowed enough time for the energy
which came from him enabling her to appear before his mortal eyes, to
gather afresh in the life-springs of his own nature? Or was she also
angry with him?

At least he failed. The waves came indeed, and the cold wind blew, but
there was no sound of music, and no vision. Again and again he strove
to call it up--to fancy that he saw. It was useless, and at last, weary,
broken, but filled with a mad irritation such as might be felt by a
hungry man who sees food which he cannot touch, or by a jealous lover
who beholds her that should have been his bride take another husband
before his eyes, he crept away to such rest as he could win.

He awoke, ill, wretched, and unsatisfied, but wisdom had come to him
with sleep. He must not fail again, it was too wearing; he must prepare
himself according to the rules which he had laid down. Also he must
conciliate his wife, so that she did not speak angrily to him, and thus
disturb his calm of mind. Broken waters mirror nothing; if his soul was
to be the glass in which that beloved spirit might appear, it must be
still and undisturbed. If? Then was she built up in his imagination, or
did he really see her with his eyes? He could not tell, and after all it
mattered little so long as he did see her.

He grew cunning--in such circumstances a common symptom--affecting a
"bonhomie," a joviality of demeanour, indeed, which was rather overdone.
He suggested that Mary should ask some people to tea, and twice he
went out shooting, a sport which he had almost abandoned. Only when
she wanted to invite certain guests to stay, he demurred a little, on
account of the baby, but so cleverly that she never suspected him of
being insincere. In short, as he could attain his unholy end in no other
way, Morris entered on a career of mild deception, designed to prevent
his wife from suspecting him of she knew not what. His conduct was that
of a man