The struggle was still going on--the issue still doubtful.
"If we could keep the mind at rest," said the physician, "we should have
every chance of doing better; but this constant restlessness, this
hyper-activity of the brain, of which you and Mr. Mew tell me, must needs
make a perpetual demand upon the patient's physical powers. The waste is
always going on. We cannot look for recovery until we obtain more
repose."
Several weeks had passed since the beginning of John Saltram's illness,
and there were no tidings from Mr. Medler. Every day Gilbert had expected
some communication from that practitioner, only to be disappointed. He
had called twice in Soho, and on both occasions had been received by a
shabby-looking clerk, who told him that Mr. Medler was out, and not
likely to come home within any definite time. He was inclined to fancy,
by the clerk's manner on his second visit, that there was some desire to
avoid an interview on Mr. Medler's part; and this fancy made him all the
more anxious to see that gentleman. He did not, therefore, allow much
time to elapse between this second visit to the dingy chambers in Soho
and a third. This time he was more fortunate; for he saw the lawyer let
himself in at the street-door with his latch-key, just as the cab that
drove him approached the house.
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