"Just so," said Mr Pratt. "This place couldn't do much against artillery, I guess. And even in the bow and arrow days, a strong force coming over the moor and down the spur--" "That was often tried," interrupted Tempest, quickly, "but the attempt always failed. In the days of Henry II. Aylmer Gabriel beat back an overwhelming force, and then erected the chapel as a thanksgiving. The Archangel Gabriel was the patron saint of the family, and the chapel is dedicated to him." "He couldn't keep the family from dying out, however," said Pratt, as they moved towards the village. "No. With the late John Gabriel the family became extinct. But I daresay Mrs Gabriel will arrange that her adopted son succeeds. He can take the name and the coat of arms. I should be very pleased to see that," added the vicar, half to himself. "Leo is a good fellow, and would make an excellent landlord." The eyes of the American flashed when the name was mentioned, but he made only a careless comment. "Leo Haverleigh," he said, after a pause, "he's a right smart young chap, sure. Who is he?" "The son of Mrs Gabriel's brother. She was a Miss Haverleigh, you know. I believe her brother was somewhat dissipated, and died abroad. The boy arrived here when he was three years of age, and Mrs Gabriel adopted him. He will be her heir." "Is there anyone to object?" asked Pratt, eagerly. The vicar shook his head. "The Gabriels are absolutely extinct. Failing Leo, the estates would lapse to the Crown. In the old days they would have been seized by the king in any case, as the sovereigns were always anxious to hold this point of vantage which dominated their lands below. But we live in such law-abiding times, that Mrs Gabriel, although not of the blood of the family, can leave the estates to whomsoever she will. I understand that she has quite decided Leo shall inherit and take the name; also the coat of arms." "She doesn't strike me as over-fond of the boy," said Pratt, as they climbed the crooked street; "rather a hard woman I should say." "Mrs Gabriel has a particularly high moral standard," replied the vicar, evasively, "and she wishes all to attain to it. Leo--" he hesitated. "He's no worse than a boy ought to be," said the American, cheerily. "Your young saint makes an old sinner. That's so, vicar!" Mr Tempest laughed outright. "I fear there is small chance of Leo becoming a saint either young or old," he said, "though he is a good lad in many ways. Wild, I admit, but his heart is in the right place." Pratt smiled to himself. He knew that Leo was in love with Sybil, the daughter of this prosy old archæologist. Simple as Mr Tempest was, he could not be blind to the possibility of his daughter making such an excellent match. "Oh, yes," laughed Pratt, knowingly, "I'm sure his heart is in the right place."