I have no intention to profess more softness or sentiment than I have hitherto professed; mutiny and ambition I regard as I have always regarded them. I should resist a riotous mob just as heretofore; I should open on the scent of a runaway ringleader as eagerly as ever, and run him down as relentlessly, and follow him up to condign punishment as rigorously; but I should do it now chiefly for the sake and the security of those he misled. Something there is to look to, Yorke, beyond a man's personal interest, beyond the advancement of well-laid schemes, beyond even the discharge of dishonouring debts. To respect himself, a man must believe he renders justice to his fellow-men. Unless I am more considerate to ignorance, more forbearing to suffering, than I have hitherto been, I shall scorn myself as grossly unjust.--What now?" he said, addressing his horse, which, hearing the ripple of water, and feeling thirsty, turned to a wayside trough, where the moonbeam was playing in a crystal eddy.
"Yorke," pursued Moore, "ride on; I must let him drink."
Yorke accordingly rode slowly forwards, occupying himself as he advanced in discriminating, amongst the many lights now spangling the distance, those of Briarmains. Stilbro' Moor was left behind; plantations rose dusk on either hand; they were descending the hill; below them lay the valley with its populous parish: they felt already at home.

I have no more softness or sentiment than previously; mutiny and ambition I regard as I have always regarded them. I should resist a riotous mob just as before; I should hunt a ringleader as eagerly as ever; but I should do it now chiefly for the sake of those he misled. Something there is to look to, Yorke, beyond a man's personal interest. To respect himself, a man must believe he is just to his fellow-men. Unless I am more considerate to ignorance, more forbearing to suffering, than I have been, I shall scorn myself as grossly unjust. - What now?" he said, addressing his horse, which had turned to a wayside trough. "Yorke, ride on; I must let him drink."
Yorke accordingly rode slowly forwards. Stilbro' Moor was left behind; plantations rose shadowy on either hand; they were descending the hill; they were almost home.
