Chapter 41. A Visitor For A Patient

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_ CHAPTER FORTY ONE. A VISITOR FOR A PATIENT

The time up to the closing of the chamber door had been one of wild excitement. There was the disguise, and then the scene of preparing Francis for another flight, his helplessness, and the calm, unresisting way in which he had yielded himself to Leoni's hands.

Then came the departure, the farewell of Leoni, whom at times he seemed to shrink from with dislike, almost with dread, but only to feel himself won back again, attracted by the doctor's manner and his manifest liking for his young companion.

Then there was the closing of the door, which seemed to cut the lad off from his friends and leave him, as he threw himself wearily into the bed to lie there alone in the darkness, face to face with a horror which chilled him through and through.

For in his chivalrous excitement which thrilled him with a feeling that he was about to do a most gallant thing in the service of his King, he seemed to have no time to think; but now in the silence and gloom of that solitary inner room, there was time for thought, time for his feelings to be harrowed by the knowledge of what was to come, and as he lay there he began to picture to himself how it would all be.

How soon he knew not, but before long some one would come, miss the King's attendants, inquiry would be made, and possibly the supposed Comte, lying wounded in the bed, would be sharply questioned as to the whereabouts of his doctor and gentlemen.

"What shall I do?" thought Denis. "I must keep up the semblance of being the King. I am supposed to be very ill, and I can pretend to be insensible. That will all gain time if I refuse to speak; and those who come will never for a moment think that the King's attendants have left him helpless here--far less fancy that they have escaped.

"But have they escaped?" thought the lad; and in his excitement the perspiration broke out upon his brow, as he lay wondering whether they had found the private passage unfastened and won their way through to the gardens, so as to pass unnoticed along the alleys and down to the river steps and boat.

"No," he thought. "Impossible. The people here would surely have securely fastened up that way, and the King has been captured; and with such an enemy as Henry what will be his fate?"

For some time he gave these thoughts firm harbour, but at last his common sense prevailed. The idea was absurd, he told himself. If the little party had been seized while making their escape the whole castle would have been in an uproar, full of wild excitement, with the hurrying to and fro of steps, especially the heavy tramp and clash of the guards, instead of which all was horribly still, while the candles burning in a couple of sconces were hidden from his sight by the heavy hangings of the bed, so that he lay there alone in the deep gloom.

There were moments when the shadows cast by the lights seemed to take form and move, making him feel that he could lie there no longer, that he must spring out of bed to face bravely these weird and shadowy forms, and convince himself that he really was alone, and merely a prey to a childish superstitious dread brought about by the horror of his position.

It was hard to bear, and required a heavy call upon his manliness to force back these fancies and prepare himself to play his part when the crucial time came of some one visiting the room and finding that the Comte's attendants were no longer there.

"It is for the King of France!" he muttered, when at last the dread and horror of his position had culminated in a feverish fit that seemed as if it would end by his springing out of bed, tearing off the mockery of his disguise, and hurrying through the outer chamber into the corridor to seek the company of the nearest guards.

"It means hastening the discovery," he muttered, "but I can bear this no longer. It is too much."

He lay panting heavily for some few moments before a reaction came, following quickly upon the one question he asked himself, contained in that one little word:

"Why?"

He began breathing more easily the next moment, for the weak boy had mastered, and manliness was coming to his aid.

"Oh," he muttered to himself, "am I to be as cowardly as a girl? It is too childish. Afraid of shadows, shrinking from lying alone in the dark! Why, I shall fancy next that I shall be afraid to lie here with the sun shining brightly, through the panes. What difference is there between the light and darkness? I can make it black darkness even at noonday if I close my eyes. I know why it is. I am tired and faint. There is no danger--for me. The danger is to the King. This is only a trick, a masquerade. Sooner or later I shall be found out. But what then? I am only a lad, and this King Harry would be a bloodthirsty monster if he had me slain for what is after all only a boyish prank. I have nothing to do but lie here quite still, as if a sick man, and very bad. They will find out at last. Well, let them. I am utterly tired out with all I have gone through. My head is as weary as my bones, and now all this weak cowardice has gone I am going to do what I should do here in bed, and go to sleep.

"Oh, impossible! Impossible!" muttered the lad wearily. "Who could sleep at such a time as this?"

He rose upon his elbow and said those words in a hoarse whisper, as if he were questioning the shadows that surrounded the great curtained bed.

There was no reply from the weird and shadowy forms, uncouth, strange, and distorted; but he answered his piteous, despairing question himself.

"I can," he said, "and--"

There was a pause of a few moments, and then he muttered between his set teeth:

"--and I will."

With a quick movement he drove his clenched fist two or three times into the great down pillow, making it purl up into a hillock, upon which he laid his cheek, and into which it softly sank, while, closing his eyes, he strove to force himself into a heavy sleep, till his strong effort joined with his bodily weariness, and he sank into a deep dreamless trance.

How long this lasted he never knew, but all at once he lay wide awake and wondering, striving to realise where he was, and what the meaning of that heavy distant tramp, tramp, as of soldiery coming nearer and nearer, till it ceased outside the farther door in obedience to a hoarse command.

There was another order, followed by a close fusillade-like sound of the butts of halberds planted upon the floor. Then a few moments' silence, and as the lad strained his eyes in the direction of the doors, that farthest was suddenly flung open and the outer chamber was filled with light which emphasised the gloom of the inner, where, fully alive to his position, Denis lay still, closing his eyes and pressing his face farther into the pillow, as a stern voice shouted as if in warning, for all to hear: "His Majesty the King!" _

Read next: Chapter 42. In The Gloomy Gallery

Read previous: Chapter 40. A Boy's Ruse

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