It is the curse of these hyper-active intellects to be strangers to rest.
The carriage drew up at one of the Temple gates at last, and Mr. Pergament woke with a start, jerked into the waking world again by that sudden pull-up.
'Bless my soul!' exclaimed the lawyer. 'I was asleep!'
'Didn't you know it?' asked Churchill, rather fretfully.
'Not the least idea. Weather very oppressive. Here we are at your place. Dear me! By the way, when do you think of going down to Penwyn?'
'The day after to-morrow. I should like you to go with me and put me in formal possession. And you may as well take the title-deeds down with you. I like to have those things in my own possession. The leases you can of course retain.'
Mr. Pergament, hardly quite awake as yet, was somewhat taken aback by this request. The title-deeds of the Penwyn estate had been in the offices of Pergament and Pergament for half a century. This new lord of the manor promised to be sharper even than the old squire, Nicholas Penwyn, who among some ribald tenants of the estate had been known as Old Nick.
'If you wish it, of course—yes—assuredly,' said Mr. Pergament; and on this, with a curt good day from Churchill, they parted.
'How property changes a man!' thought the solicitor, as the coach carried him to New Square. 'That young man looks as if he had the cares of a nation on his shoulders already. Odd notion his, wanting to keep the title-deeds in his own custody However, I suppose he won't take his business out of our hands,—and if he should, we can do without it.'
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