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; Ithink not. Icame 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. Ishall 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, Ipelieve. Herr Zikoff, at your service.”

“You are welcome, Mr.Zikoff, and Ithank 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, Iam 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 Iought to know, and Iwill try to be a faithful pupil.”

“You are not afraid to bractice, like dese many American girls?”

“No; Ihave nothing else to occupy my attention. Ido 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! Ihave 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 Ilove Florence Darley? Has her loveliness so soon made me a slave? Ifear that it is so, for thoughts of her crowd everything else from my mind, and her picture is before me every instant. Oh, Florence, Ido 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. Athrill 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, Is’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. Ithink 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 Istudied 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 Icame 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 Iget lonely very often, for there is nothing whatever going on, and Imiss 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.