The other's face was a heavy mask of disappointment. "I must be the judge of my own path," he said sullenly.
"But you will be guided in that judgment by one who knows better than you the certainties of the road. It is no part of a man's duty to walk aimlessly to death."
The last word seemed to make Johnson pause. But he recovered himself.
"I have counted the cost," he said. "I fear death, God knows, but not more than other men. I will be no stranger in your wars. I will change my name to MacIan, and be as fierce as any Highlander."
"It cannot be. What you told Midwinter is the truth. If you are not fitted by nature for Old England, still less are you fitted for our wild long-memoried North. You will go back to London, Mr Johnson, and some day you will find fortune and happiness. You will marry some day . . ."
At the word Johnson's face grew very red, and he turned his eyes on the ground and rolled his head with an odd nervous motion.
"I have misled you," he said. "I have been married these ten years. My dear Tetty is now living in the vicinity of London. . . . I have not written to her for seven weeks. Mea culpa! Mea maxima culpa!"
He put his head in his hands and seemed to be absorbed in a passion of remorse.
"You must surely return to her," said Alastair gently.
Johnson raised his head. "I would not have you think that I had forgotten her. She has her own small fortune, which suffices for one, though scant enough for two. I earn so little that I am rather an encumbrance than an aid, and she is more prosperous in my absence."