"I was about to add," he presently goes on, "I was about to add, respecting this attack, that it was unfortunately simultaneous with a slight misunderstanding between my Lady and myself. I do not mean that there was any difference between us (for there has been none), but that there was a misunderstanding of certain circumstances important only to ourselves, which deprives me, for a little while, of my Lady's society. She has found it necessary to make a journey--I trust will shortly return. Volumnia, do I make myself intelligible? The words are not quite under my command in the manner of pronouncing them."
Volumnia understands him perfectly, and in truth he delivers himself with far greater plainness than could have been supposed possible a minute ago. The effort by which he does so is written in the anxious and labouring expression of his face. Nothing but the strength of his purpose enables him to make it.
"Therefore, Volumnia, I desire to say in your presence--and in the presence of my old retainer and friend, Mrs. Rouncewell, whose truth and fidelity no one can question, and in the presence of her son George, who comes back like a familiar recollection of my youth in the home of my ancestors at Chesney Wold--in case I should relapse, in case I should not recover, in case I should lose both my speech and the power of writing, though I hope for better things--"
The old housekeeper weeping silently; Volumnia in the greatest agitation, with the freshest bloom on her cheeks; the trooper with his arms folded and his head a little bent, respectfully attentive.

"I was about to add," he goes on, "that this attack was unfortunately simultaneous with a slight misunderstanding between my Lady and myself - not a disagreement, but a misunderstanding which deprives me, for a little while, of my Lady's society. She has found it necessary to make a journey - I trust will shortly return. Volumnia, do I make myself intelligible?"
Volumnia understands him perfectly, and in truth he speaks more clearly than could have been supposed possible a minute ago. The effort by which he does so is written in his face. Nothing but the strength of his purpose enables him to make it.
"Therefore, Volumnia, I desire to say in your presence - and in the presence of my faithful old friend, Mrs. Rouncewell, and her son George - in case I should relapse, in case I should lose both my speech and the power of writing-"
The old housekeeper weeping silently; Volumnia in the greatest agitation; the trooper with his arms folded and his head a little bent, respectfully attentive.
