fellow should so throw himself away for nothing.

"You are hard," said Moore, with his eyes upon me.

"Hard? Isn't it true?" I answered, hotly. "Then, there's his mother at
home."

"Yes, but can he help it? Is it all his fault?" he replied, with his
steady eyes still looking into me.

"His fault? Whose fault, then?"

"What of the Noble Seven? Have they anything to do with this?" His voice
was quiet, but there was an arresting intensity in it.

"Well," I said, rather weakly, "a man ought to look after himself."

"Yes!--and his brother a little." Then, he added: "What have any of you
done to help him? The Duke could have pulled him up a year ago if he had
been willing to deny himself a little, and so with all of you. You all
do just what pleases you regardless of any other, and so you help one
another down."

I could not find anything just then to say, though afterwards many
things came to me; for, though his voice was quiet and low, his eyes
were glowing and his face was alight with the fire that burned within,
and I felt like one convicted of a crime. This was certainly a
new doctrine for the West; an uncomfortable doctrine to practice,
interfering seriously with personal liberty, but in The Pilot's way
of viewing things difficult to escape. There would be no end to one's