efforts had a surer return, for they dwelt in a land of trout streams,
and in their vicinity was a not inconsiderable river. It was an
adventure of delight to pursue some of these streams to their source,
throwing, as they rambled on, the fly in the rippling waters. Myra, too,
took some pleasure in these fishing expeditions, carrying their luncheon
and a German book in her wallet, and sitting quietly on the bank for
hours, when they had fixed upon some favoured pool for a prolonged
campaign.

Every time that Nigel returned home, a difference, and a striking
difference, was observed in him. His person, of course, became more
manly, his manner more assured, his dress more modish. It was impossible
to deny that he was extremely good-looking, interesting in his
discourse, and distinguished in his appearance. Endymion idolised him.
Nigel was his model. He imitated his manner, caught the tone of his
voice, and began to give opinions on subjects, sacred and profane.

After a hard morning's march, one day, as they were lolling on the turf
amid the old beeches and the juniper, Nigel said--

"What does Mr. Ferrars mean you to be, Endymion?"

"I do not know," said Endymion, looking perplexed.

"But I suppose you are to be something?"

"Yes; I suppose I must be something; because papa has lost his fortune."

"And what would you like to be?"