"It's impossible, I tell you," cried the doctor, still struggling with his astonishment. "You were as dead as a door-nail."
"So you thought, Tollart, but you are not the first medical man who has mistaken catalepsy for death."
"Catalepsy?"
"I have been subject to it all my life, but I never told anyone about it--not even you, Tollart. Only Titus knew, and that was why he was what was called my shadow down in the village. I always dreaded being buried alive."
"Yet you were," said Rupert, staring with all his might at the resuscitated man, and wondering if he was asleep or awake. "Titus wasn't much good, after all, in spite of his watchfulness."
"And what could I do, Squoire?" demanded the ancient shrilly. "I said as Muster Leigh warn't dead agin and agin, but none heeded me."
"If you had used the one word catalepsy," protested Tollart, who was annoyed that Leigh should reappear to give the lie to his skill, "I should have known what to do."
"I bain't no scholard," croaked Titus sulkily. "I said as Muster Leigh warn't dead and he warn't. On the night of the day when he was buried, me and Tobias got him out of his coffin and he hev bin in my house getting well."
"You should have told me, Titus," expostulated Rupert reprovingly.
"Now the Lard help me, Squoire. Didn't I tell 'ee times wi'out number. I said as Muster Leigh warn't dead and you laughed; you know you did. But he warn't dead; he warn't dead"; and the ancient repeated his favorite phrase again and again with angry gestures.