It was the business of his life to
beguile his master's customers into over-eating themselves, and to set
his face against chops and steaks; but he felt that this particular
customer was proof against his blandishments. He took Gilbert an evening
paper, and then subsided into a pensive silence until the fowl appeared
in an agreeable frizzling state, fresh from the gridiron, but a bird of
some experience notwithstanding, and wingless. It was a very hasty meal.
Gilbert was eager to return to those chambers in the Temple--eager to be
listening once more for some chance words of meaning that might be
dropped from John Saltram's pale parched lips in the midst of incoherent
ravings. Come what might, he wanted to be near at hand, to watch that
sick-bed with a closer vigil than hired nurse ever kept; to be ready to
surprise the briefest interval of consciousness that might come all of a
sudden to that hapless fever-stricken sinner. Who should say that such an
interval would not come, or who could tell what such an interval might
reveal?
Gilbert Fenton paid for his dinner, left half his wine undrunk, and
hurried away; leaving the waiter with rather a contemptuous idea of him,
though that individual condescended to profit by his sobriety, and
finished the dry sherry at a draught.
It was nearly ten when Gilbert returned to the chambers, and all was
still quiet, that heavy slumber continuing; an artificial sleep at the
best, produced by one of Mr.
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