THE NEW MUSIC-TEACHER.
Karl Zikoff, teacher of music. This was the guise in which Carlos
Conrad made his reappearance in Dalton.
In New York he had left Mr. Werner’s protection and taken up his abode
at No. ―――― Twelfth street. Here, under the direction of Mr. Stark’s
associates, he had perfected his disguise and rehearsed his part until
he was well prepared to simulate the character in which we find him.
Immediately on entering Dalton he had engaged lodgings at the hotel,
and hired a teaching-room in a fashionable quarter of the village.
The teaching-room was in the second story of a building adjoining
Mr. Haywood’s store, and in the front window was suspended a modest
sign, on which were inscribed his new name and occupation.
In New York he had purchased an old Erard piano, a small library of
German books, a unique set of shelves, and a well-worn sword. These he
arranged in his room in effective array, to complete the illusion of
his nationality and character.
The side-whiskers which he had allowed to grow were trimmed so as to
look rough and frowzy, his eyebrows had been singed off, and he nightly
wore a bandage which left an impress on his forehead resembling a scar.
This, he gave out, was caused by a wound he received in a duel with a
fellow-student in Germany.
As his former stay in Dalton had been so short, it was not probable
that any one had become sufficiently familiar with his personal
appearance to penetrate his disguise. So in calm confidence he awaited
the course of events, although he was always prepared to fly on an
instant’s warning in case of necessity.
A few pupils came to him almost immediately, and he attended to them
faithfully, giving good satisfaction.
One morning, about two weeks after his advent into Dalton, he was
seated in his room, when a knock came at the door. He opened it, and
Geoffrey Haywood entered.
It is not strange that Karl’s heart rose on meeting this gentleman
face to face, and that he felt considerable agitation. Distressing
possibilities at once rose in his mind, and he scanned the visitor’s
face.
Mr. Haywood was stately and serene as usual, and said, in his
smooth-toned voice:
“Mr. Zikoff, I believe?”
“Yes, sir. Vill you have one seat?”
“Thank you; I think not. I came on a short matter of business in behalf
of a young lady. Miss Florence Darley, of Elm Grove, wishes you to do
her the favor of calling with reference to giving her music lessons.”
These few words restored Karl’s composure, and he replied, with a
profuse show of politeness:
“Ah! Mees Tarley does me great honor. I shall pe please to call on her.
At vat hour vill de _fraulein_ pe convenient?”
“Any time during the afternoon will suit her. She is always at home.”
“At Ellum Grofe, you say? Vere is dat?”
Mr. Haywood gave the requisite information regarding Florence’s
residence, and Karl Zikoff said:
“I vill present myself at t’ree o’clock.”
Mr. Haywood did not linger after his business had been transacted.
It was plain from his tone and his prompt departure that he had no
suspicion of Karl Zikoff’s identity.
The latter felt immeasurably relieved after he had departed, and,
moreover, felt a thrill of pleasure at being called on to meet Florence
Darley――she who had made such an impression on him on his call at Elm
Grove two months ago. This impression had not been removed. He had
carried it with him, and cherished it, and wondered if they were ever
to meet again. And now came the opportunity, yet with it a pang, for he
was to appear before her in a false character, and never could reveal
himself unless the blight which rested upon his name were removed.
At the hour named he presented himself at Elm Grove.
“Miss Vlorence Tarley, I pelieve. Herr Zikoff, at your service.”
“You are welcome, Mr. Zikoff, and I thank you for responding to my
request so promptly.”
Florence was dressed in deep black, which set off to advantage the
paleness of her face and the brightness of her eyes. Her sorrow had
left on her countenance a grave, thoughtful look, which enhanced rather
than detracted from its fascination.
Karl Zikoff averted his eyes, which he felt might express too much
of the admiration that was stirred within him, and proceeded, with an
effort, to play his part.
“The honor is mine,” he said, with an obsequious bow. “And about these
music-lessons――you vill study the piano-forte?”
“Yes,” answered Florence.
“You have study him pefore? You already play some?”
“Oh, yes; but I am sadly deficient, I am afraid, and have much to
learn.”
“Ya, dat is very possible,” replied Mr. Zikoff, elevating that portion
of his anatomy where his eyebrows should have been. “Dese American
teachers are very thin――shallow, do you call it?”
“I understand what you mean,” said Florence, smiling. “You will please
teach me whatever I ought to know, and I will try to be a faithful
pupil.”
“You are not afraid to bractice, like dese many American girls?”
“No; I have nothing else to occupy my attention. I do not go in
society.”
“Oh, I see!” Mr. Zikoff glanced significantly at her black dress; and
then he added, in a prolonged tone, as if the thought had suddenly
dawned upon him: “O-h-h, yes! You are _die fraulein_ who has had much
affliction. _Ya, ya!_ I have heard somet’ings. Pardon my pad English.
De language is _sehr schwer_――very difficult.”
A shadow came over Florence’s face as the tragedy was thus recalled,
but she replied pleasantly, and soon afterward the music-lesson began.
Herr Zikoff had plenty of fault to find, and commented oddly on the
deficiencies of his pupil. She was amused, and awakened to a new
interest; and he, in spite of the emotions that thrilled him, enacted
his _role_ to perfection, as his thorough knowledge of music enabled
him to do.
When he had departed, and was in his room again, he locked the door,
and buried himself in reflection.
“What is to come of all this?” he thought. “Do I love Florence Darley?
Has her loveliness so soon made me a slave? I fear that it is so, for
thoughts of her crowd everything else from my mind, and her picture is
before me every instant. Oh, Florence, I do love you! But it must be
a secret, unwhispered, unhinted at. For to play the suitor under this
false name and character would be dishonorable. But if my innocence
is proven, if Carlos Conrad ever stands before the world again with
character unblemished, then will the homage and devotion of a human
heart be laid before you.”
The days went on. The music lessons were given regularly, and all the
while Karl Zikoff’s passionate adoration of his pupil grew in strength.
Oftentimes, sitting by her side, he would find himself gazing into her
face, so absorbed with the feelings that stirred him as to be entirely
unconscious of whether the lesson were well or illy played. Then he
would suddenly recollect himself, and, with a pang at the thought of
the great barrier between them, offer a sharp criticism at random, and
shortly afterward take his leave with an abrupt and formal “good-day.”
In the meantime, he prospered well, receiving in his new vocation a
large and profitable patronage. Society opened its arms to him, and he
received the homage due to true refinement and real talent. In the eyes
of the world there was nothing lacking to fill him with contentment.
But there were two secrets gnawing at his heart――his unconfessed love,
and his real identity――that made life far from a round of pleasure, and
imposed on him a burden that was at times hard to bear.
Bleak November came, and afterward the snows of December. The Christmas
holidays came, and still his life went on in the same dull monotony. He
had observed closely the habits of Geoffrey Haywood, and had made two
visits to Rocky Beach. But he had failed to make any discoveries. Mr.
Haywood’s secret was well guarded, and there was no clew or suspicious
circumstances to seize upon.
Many of Herr Zikoff’s lessons were given in his music-room, on Main
street, and it was here, one day, early in January, that he received
another visit that filled him with forebodings.
A lesson was nearly finished, when heavy, shambling footsteps were
heard slowly ascending the stairs. The door was opened a few inches,
and a rough-looking face peered in. It was quickly closed again,
however, and the visitor waited outside until the lesson was finished,
and the pupil had departed.
Then a man of large stature and rude appearance entered, and stood for
a moment in awkward silence.
Karl Zikoff instantly recognized him as Jake Heath, the man at whose
house he had stopped on the night of the murder. A thrill of wonder
and apprehension shot through him, but he had his outward demeanor well
under control, and welcomed the visitor in courteous broken English.
“You’re the music-master, I s’pose?” said Mr. Heath.
“Yes, sir.”
“My name’s Heath, and I’ve a darter that’s taken it into her head that
she wants to come to school to ye.”
“She vill study the _klavier_――the piano-forte?”
“Yes, that’s it. Bein’ that we live four miles out of the village,
she thought she could come in twice ’t week. I think it’s all blamed
nonsense myself, but her mind is so sot on it that I’ve rented an
instrument for the winter. What’s yer price?”
Karl made known his terms, his mind being in a state of perplexity
at this new phase of affairs, and being filled with a presentiment
that it was the forerunner of some new evil. There was nothing in
Jake Heath’s actions to warrant this; for, as soon as the arrangements
were completed, he took his departure. But for a girl of Kate Heath’s
station and surroundings to study music was a novel, and, to Karl, a
suspicious circumstance.
Consequently, it was with considerable ♦curiosity and anxiety that he
awaited her first call on him. On the following day she came.
Herr Zikoff was surprised at her appearance. She was well-dressed,
and there was no uncouthness in her manner. She had a strange, wild
sort of beauty, and the face, at which he had only glanced casually on
that terrible stormy night, now revealed a spirit and a nature of no
ordinary cast.
She looked at him steadfastly and earnestly for a moment, and as she
did so a slight flush and a peculiar, indefinable expression passed
across her features. Karl observed this with a feeling of uneasiness,
but, with the nervous, bristling manner which it was his task to assume,
proceeded at once to business.
“You already know something of music?” he questioned.
“Yes,” she replied. “When in New York I studied it some.”
“Ah! you have lived in New York!” he exclaimed, in genuine surprise,
and forgetting for the moment to color his speech with faulty
pronunciation.
She gave him a quick glance, and replied:
“I sang for a year in one of the theaters, and then my father and I
came here to live on a farm.”
“De farm must be _langweilig_――ferry tull――after life in de city.”
“It is; but I am used to it now, after four years’ trial. Not but that
I get lonely very often, for there is nothing whatever going on, and I
miss the excitement and variety of the city.”
“And so you will study music to make de time go more swiftly?”
“Yes, for that, and――other reasons.”
Again the color rose to her face, and again came the same curious
expression.
It was not lost upon Karl, who, with an increasing feeling of
disquietude, took out his watch, and, remarking that his time was
limited, proceeded rather hurriedly with the lesson.
Kate Heath received the instruction he offered in a strangely docile,
almost apathetic manner, and fairly puzzled her teacher.
After that, she was always prompt at the hour assigned her, though she
never learned her tasks well. And the fault-findings and scoldings that
were administered in consequence, were received with a humility that
would have contradicted any surmise a physiognomist would have formed
from studying the dark, passionate face.
Whatever apprehension Karl at first felt concerning her ♦suspicion of
his identity was soon dispelled by her subdued, amiable demeanor and
softly modulated tone in conversation, although these characteristics
were a constant study to him, inasmuch as they evinced no contrition
for poorly learned lessons, and were followed by no substantial
improvement.
“I don’t know what to make of her,” the musician often thought, after
a formal “good-day” on his part, and a tremulous “good-by,” with a
strange, half-scared look on hers.
Poor Kate Heath! She had her secret, and it was destined in time to
work changes and precipitate a chain of events that were to create the
wildest commotion, where outwardly all was quiet and serene.