He had retired from the world a young man, little more than a youth, indeed, with sentiments and aspirations all of them suddenly extinguished.  The first had bequeathed him a single huge sorrow, the second a single trying duty.  In due time the anguish had lost something of its poignancy, the light of earlier and happier memories had begun to struggle with and to soften its thick darkness, and even that duty which he had confronted with such an effort had become an endurable habit.

At a period of life when many have been living on the capital of their acquired knowledge and their youthful stock of sensibilities until their intellects are really shallower and their hearts emptier than they were at twenty, Dudley Veneer was stronger in thought and tenderer in soul than in the first freshness of his youth, when he counted but half his present years.  He had entered that period which marks the decline of men who have ceased growing in knowledge and strength:  from forty to fifty a man must move upward, or the natural falling off in the vigor of life will carry him rapidly downward.  At this time his inward:  nature was richer and deeper than in any earlier period of his life.  If he could only be summoned to action, he was capable of noble service.  If his sympathies could only find an outlet, he was never so capable of love as now; for his natural affections had been gathering in the course of all these years, and the traces of that ineffaceable calamity of his life were softened and partially hidden by new growths of thought and feeling, as the wreck left by a mountainslide is covered over by the gentle intrusion of the soft-stemmed herbs which will prepare it for the stronger vegetation that will bring it once more into harmony with the peaceful slopes around it.

Perhaps Dudley Veneer had not gained so much in worldly wisdom as if he had been more in society and less in his study.  The indulgence with which he treated his nephew was, no doubt, imprudent.  A man more in the habit of dealing with men would have been more guarded with a person with Dick’s questionable story and unquestionable physiognomy.  But he was singularly unsuspicious, and his natural kindness was an additional motive to the wish for introducing some variety into the routine of Elsie’s life.

If Dudley Veneer did not know just what he wanted at this period of his life, there were a great many people in the town of Rockland who thought they did know.  He had been a widower long enough, “—­nigh twenty year, wa’n’t it?  He’d been aout to Spraowles’s party,—­there wa’n’t anything to hender him why he shouldn’t stir raound l’k other folks.  What was the reason he did n’t go abaout to taown-meetin’s ‘n’ Sahbath-meetin’s, ‘n’ lyceums, ‘n’ school ’xaminations, ‘n’ s’prise-parties, ‘n’ funerals,—­and other entertainments where the still-faced two-story folks were in the habit of looking round to see if any of the mansion-house gentry were present?—­Fac’ was, he was livin’ too lonesome daown there at the mansion-haouse.  Why shouldn’t he make up to the Jedge’s daughter?  She was genteel enough for him, and—­let’s see, haow old was she?  Seven-’n’itwenty,—­no, six-’n’-twenty,—­born the same year we buried our little Anny Marl”.