But 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.