“What!” roared Henry. “You refuse?”
“I refuse,” said Denis, in a hoarse whisper.
“But why?” cried Henry, half suffocated by his anger.
“Because,” cried the boy defiantly, “I am not the King.” And with a quick movement he threw back the coverlet, sprang from the bed, and tore off his bandages, to stand there in the full light in white shirt and trunk hose, scattering the wrappings which had disfigured his face, just as, startled in his turn and fully expecting an attack, Henry took a couple of steps backward and drew his sword.
Chapter Forty Four.
The escape.
For a few moments excitement got the better of the grave subtle doctor, and he was within touch of flinging open the door and hurrying Francis out into the grounds. But drawing in a deep breath he was cautious the next moment as some lurking beast of prey.
The key was turned by slow degrees without a sound, and the door drawn carefully inward till there was a slight crack, through which the night wind came in pleasantly to his heated brow, and he paused for quite five minutes, listening; then gradually opening more and more, he satisfied himself that there were no concealed guards among the bushes, waiting to spring upon him and make him prisoner when he stepped outside.