Godfrey Morgan | Page 9

the presence of Phina,
indifferent when she spoke to him, deaf when she played the airs which
used to please him; and Phina, like a thoughtful, serious girl, soon
noticed this.
To say that she did not feel a little annoyance mingled with some

chagrin, is to do her a gratuitous injustice. But accustomed to look
things in the face, she had reasoned thus,--
"If we must part, it had better be before marriage than afterwards!"
And thus it was that she had spoken to Godfrey in these significant
words.
"No! You are not near me at this moment--you are beyond the seas!"
Godfrey had risen. He had walked a few steps without noticing Phina,
and unconsciously his index finger touched one of the keys of the piano.
A loud C# of the octave below the staff, a note dismal enough,
answered for him.
Phina had understood him, and without more discussion was about to
bring matters to a crisis, when the door of the room opened.
William W. Kolderup appeared, seemingly a little preoccupied as usual.
Here was the merchant who had just finished one negotiation and was
about to begin another.
"Well," said he, "there is nothing more now than for us to fix the date."
"The date?" answered Godfrey, with a start. "What date, if you please,
uncle?"
"The date of your wedding!" said William W. Kolderup. "Not the date
of mine, I suppose!"
"Perhaps that is more urgent?" said Phina.
"Hey?--what?" exclaimed the uncle--"what does that matter? We are
only talking of current affairs, are we not?"
"Godfather Will," answered the lady. "It is not of a wedding that we are
going to fix the date to-day, but of a departure."
"A departure!"

"Yes, the departure of Godfrey," continued Phina, "of Godfrey who,
before he gets married, wants to see a little of the world!"
"You want to go away--you?" said William W. Kolderup, stepping
towards the young man and raising his arms as if he were afraid that
this "rascal of a nephew" would escape him.
"Yes; I do, uncle," said Godfrey gallantly.
"And for how long?"
"For eighteen months, or two years, or more, if--"
"If--"
"If you will let me, and Phina will wait for me."
"Wait for you! An intended who intends until he gets away!" exclaimed
William W. Kolderup.
"You must let Godfrey go," pleaded Phina; "I have thought it carefully
over. I am young, but really Godfrey is younger. Travel will age him,
and I do not think it will change his taste! He wishes to travel, let him
travel! The need of repose will come to him afterwards, and he will
find me when he returns."
"What!" exclaimed William W. Kolderup, "you consent to give your
bird his liberty?"
"Yes, for the two years he asks."
"And you will wait for him?"
"Uncle Will, if I could not wait for him I could not love him!" and so
saying Phina returned to the piano, and whether she willed it or no, her
fingers softly played a portion of the then fashionable "Départ du
Fiancé," which was very appropriate under the circumstances. But
Phina, without perceiving it perhaps, was playing in "A minor,"
whereas it was written in "A major," and all the sentiment of the

melody was transformed, and its plaintiveness chimed in well with her
hidden feelings.
But Godfrey stood embarrassed, and said not a word. His uncle took
him by the head and turning it to the light looked fixedly at him for a
moment or two. In this way he questioned him without having to speak,
and Godfrey was able to reply without having occasion to utter a
syllable.
And the lamentations of the "Départ du Fiancé" continued their
sorrowful theme, and then William W. Kolderup, having made the turn
of the room, returned to Godfrey, who stood like a criminal before the
judge. Then raising his voice,--
"You are serious," he asked.
"Quite serious!" interrupted Phina, while Godfrey contented himself
with making a sign of affirmation.
"You want to try travelling before you marry Phina! Well! You shall
try it, my nephew!"
He made two or three steps and stopping with crossed arms before
Godfrey, asked,--
"Where do you want to go to?"
"Everywhere."
"And when do you want to start?"
"When you please, Uncle Will."
"All right," replied William W. Kolderup, fixing a curious look on his
nephew.
Then he muttered between his teeth,--
"The sooner the better."

At these last words came a sudden interruption from Phina. The little
finger of her left hand touched a G#, and the fourth had, instead of
falling on the key-note, rested on the "sensible," like Ralph in the
"Huguenots," when he leaves at the end of his duet with Valentine.
Perhaps Phina's heart was nearly full, she had made up