At home a year or more had elapsed without change. The occasional appearance of Nigel Penruddock was the only event. It was to all a pleasing, and to some of the family a deeply interesting one. Nigel, though a student and devoted to the holy profession for which he was destined, was also a sportsman. His Christianity was muscular, and Endymion, to whom he had taken a fancy, became the companion of his pastimes. All the shooting of the estate was at Nigel’s command, but as there were no keepers, it was of course very rough work. Still it was a novel and animating life for Endymion; and though the sport was slight, the pursuit was keen. Then Nigel was a great fisherman, and here their 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?” “I never thought about it,” said Endymion. “In my opinion there is only one thing for a man to be in this age,” said Nigel peremptorily; “he should go into the Church.” “The Church!” said Endymion. “There will soon be nothing else left,” said Nigel. “The Church must last for ever. It is built upon a rock. It was founded by God; all other governments have been founded by men. When they are destroyed, and the process of destruction seems rapid, there will be nothing left to govern mankind except the Church.” “Indeed!” said Endymion; “papa is very much in favour of the Church, and, I know, is writing something about it.”