Her question bothered him. He thought for a moment, and then went on, deliberately postponing a reply.
"Our relations were clearly established from the first. We had met before, you know, earlier in the summer, and I had visited at Westport. She liked and understood me, and was sensible enough to tell me so; and I—she attracted me—curiously. I had always lived a solitary sort of existence. She simply ignored my prejudices and over-rode them. She invaded my life and took it by storm. She was like the sudden capriccioso after the largo in a symphony. She was Youth and Joy, and she got into my blood like an elixir. I loved her for all the things she was that I was not, but I did not tell her so—not then. I hid my secret, for I knew that if she guessed it would make a difference to us both." He raised his head and went on more rapidly. "We joined a company of strolling mountebanks. Oh, that was true enough—and went with them as far as Alençon. Hermia—Miss Challoner—was a Dame Orchestre and I a 'lightning' artist. We made our living in that way. It was quite wonderful how she played—wonderful how she forgot what she was—how she became what I wanted her to be—an earthling among earthlings. With them she lived in poverty and discomfort, learned the meaning of weariness and felt the pinch of hunger." He smiled. "I suppose you wonder why I'm telling you all this, Mrs. Hammond. I wanted you to understand just what the pilgrimage was—how little it had in common with—with what you have heard these people saying."
"I know, Mr. Markham. I understand," she said gently. Her eyes softened and she looked past him as though back through a vista of the years. "It was Romance—the true Romance," she murmured. "She borrowed a week from Immortality—that, for once, she might be herself. She was free—from this thralldom—free!"
"She worked—hard," he went on after a moment, "and she earned what money she made. And so did I. But I was bothered. My sins were pursuing me. One day we saw upon the road a man Miss Challoner had met, and at Alençon—"
"Olga Tcherny?" asked Mrs. Hammond keenly.
Markham paused, looked beyond her and went on.
"And at Alençon, when we were giving a performance, some one I knew appeared and recognized me. Need I mention names?"
"Not if you prefer to be silent. And the hunting lodge?"
"We fled from Alençon that night and took refuge from the rain in a house in the forest. Miss Challoner was dead tired. We had been up since sunrise. So we stayed there, thinking ourselves safe. But in the morning—" He paused.
Mrs. Hammond had risen and was fingering the flowers on the tea table.