The clock struck six as he left his room. As he ran downstairs the unwonted sound of music struck his ear; someone was playing a _Lied ohne Worte_, one that Eveline often played in the twilight at home. Mark was glad that one of the ladies played, and played softly, but Martin’s inexorable gong began to boom, and he must go in. Miles Echlin had never used the drawing-room, and when Mark opened the door, and the great chandeliers were reflected from mirror to mirror, he started back dazzled. Two ladies rose at his entrance and came towards him; both called him by his name. What did it mean? Were they in very truth his own mother and sister, the ladies dearest in the world to his loyal heart? The wonder of it almost took away his breath, and he gave a great gasp as he uttered their names. “Mother! Eveline!” “Forgive me, Mark,” said Mr. Echlin, taking his hand, “it was selfish of me to take you so by surprise, I ought to have told you.” “Oh, sir, are they come to stay?” asked Mark, looking from one to the other, still incredulous. “To stay, to live with us if we can make the old house homelike enough for them, or rather if they will make it homelike for me and my adopted son.” “Oh, sir, how good you are to me.” “And are you not good to me? Ever since you came to me, have you not thought, worked, and cared for me? My own dear son was taken from me, he who must ever be first in my heart, but do not think that I cannot love and honour loyalty and worth, that I cannot thank God for cheering me with such a friend as you! But there is old Martin pounding away at his gong! You all know what I would say. Come, Margaret, Mark will bring his sister.” He led Mrs. Fenner down with old-fashioned courtesy, and placed her in the seat which his wife had once filled, then motioned to Eveline to sit at his right while Mark took his customary seat on his left. There were many larger parties in the square that night, but not one where there were more grateful hearts, and of the silent covenant made that night no one of the four ever repented. With the presence of those good women, all that was happy and homelike came back to the big house. Music and soft laughter filled its chambers—Mr. Echlin loved to have it so. The portraits of his wife and of his son hang where they used to hang, and some beautiful landscapes now adorn the walls, and in Mrs. Echlin’s pretty sitting-room the grave, sweet face of Michael Fenner looks down on the children to whom he bequeathed the best possession, THE INHERITANCE OF A GOOD NAME. [THE END.] [Illustration] [Illustration: “HE STARTED BACK, DAZZLED.”] HISTORICAL SKETCHES OF MUSICAL FORMS. SKETCH III.—CANTATAS AND CHURCH MUSIC. BY MYLES B. FOSTER, Organist of the Foundling Hospital. CANTATA.