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.
CHAPTER XXIII.
A STRANGE REVELATION.
Week after week of the dreary winter passed, and Karl Zikoff still went through the dull routine of his life as a music-teacher. But little progress was made that he could see in the investigation that was to clear his name from the infamous stain that rested upon it.
He received occasional letters from Leonard, written in German, urging him to remain contented and hopeful, and assuring him that Mr. Stark was shrewd, discreet, and sure (although of necessity slow) in his operations. But he was kept in ignorance of what these operations were, and the absence of any visible results tended to imbue him with a feeling of despondency. The passive, inactive part he was filling, was aggravating to his restless, nervous spirit. And the new motive for making clear his innocence grew in strength every day, and made him impatient and miserable.
He had been in Dalton about five months, when one afternoon in March he made one of his accustomed professional visits to Florence Darley.
These visits always filled him with ecstasy, strangely mingled with despondency. To be near her, to talk with her, to feel the intimate confidence that naturally arose in their relations of teacher and pupil, created in him a stimulation of hope that oftentimes soared above and almost put out of sight, for the time being, his trouble. On this day, an unusual depression had been followed, when he came into her presence, by a proportional though unnatural buoyancy.