CHAPTER XX

THE DEATH OF THE LORD LOVAT The morning was mist and rain with a wind blowing from the east up the packed streets. It was like a fête-day in the town with people in Sunday clothes hastening Tower-wards. When Francis came down to the dining-room, a maid was scrubbing the hearth, the windows were open, and in the raw early chill there came a babble as of a city in expectation. He had slept scarcely a wink, being full of thought and a kind of bitter excitement. He knew the whole evil of Lovat's life, but this sounding…