revival of their works.

So when Evelyn clambered on her father's knee, it was to learn the
chants that he hummed from old manuscripts and missals, and it was the
contrapuntal fancies of the Elizabethan composers that he gave her to
play on the virginal, or the preludes of Bach on the clavichord. Her
infantile graces at these instruments were the delight and amazement of
her parents. She warbled this old-time music as other children do the
vulgar songs of the hour; she seemed less anxious to learn the operatic
music which she heard in her mother's class-rooms, and there was a shade
of uneasiness in Mrs. Innes's admiration of the beauty of Evelyn's
taste; but Mr. Innes said that it was better that her first love should
be for the best, and he could not help hoping that it would not be with
the airs of _Lucia_ and _Traviata_ that she would become famous. As if
in answer, the child began to hum the celebrated waltz, a moment after a
beautiful Ave Maria, composed by a Fleming at the end of the fifteenth
century, a quick, sobbing rhythm, expressive of naïve petulance at delay
in the Virgin's intercession. Mr. Innes called it natural music--music
which the modern Church abhorred and shamefully ostracised; and the
conversation turned on the incurably bad taste and the musical misdeeds
of a certain priest, Father Gordon, whom Mr. Innes judged to be
responsible for all the bad music to be heard at St. Joseph's.

For Mr. Innes's ambition was to restore the liturgical chants of the
early centuries, from John Ockeghem, the Flemish silver-smith of Louis
XI., whose recreation it was to compose motets, to Thomas da Vittoria;
and, after having made known the works of Palestrina and of those who
gravitated around the great Roman composer, he hoped to disinter the
masses of Orlando di Lasso, of Goudimel and Josquin des Près, the motets
of Nannini, of Felice Anerio, of Clemens non Papa.... He would go still