Left by myself in the silent little church, I drew off my gloves and prepared to open the harmonium. It occupied a position under a window in the chancel, on the first of the three wide steps leading to the sanctuary, on the right-hand side of the church. Immediately opposite was the vestry door by which we had entered, and between the harmonium and the vestry lay the pile of flowers and greenstuff for the decorations, so that I, seated at the organ, had my back towards the flowers. Two rush-bottomed chairs stood near, one bearing a basket of extra choice white flowers I intended for the altar vases; the other was on the right side by the harmonium, supporting the small repertoire of music that I needed for the service. I took my seat leisurely, thinking over my voluntary for the morrow. I turned over first one piece of music, then another, finally opening a tattered sheet of an old copy of “The Blacksmith of Cologne.” I settled on that; it looked so nice and easy. Played slowly, with a proper amount of expression and a plentiful addition of the tremolo stop, I thought it would make a very telling and appropriate beginning to the Christmas service. I had barely played a dozen bars of the music when I thought I heard a rustle of leaves behind me, but attributed the sound to some slight current of air from an open window. I was too much engrossed to pay the occurrence much attention, and continued my performance right through to the end, repeating a passage here and there which I thought required a different rendering. Then once again I seemed to hear stirring leaves, and, glancing over my shoulder at the lovely pile of flowers, I noticed the sound could only have been caused by the spray of wild ginger that I had carelessly tossed on the top of the other blooms, and which had apparently rolled down and now lay a few inches apart from the rest. Rather amused that such a trifle should cause me to interrupt my practising, I again turned to the instrument, intent upon perfecting my piece. [Illustration: THE CHURCH WHERE THE ADVENTURE HAPPENED AS IT APPEARED IN 1890.] Suddenly I was overtaken by a feeling of unaccountable apprehension, and, at the same time, became aware of a slow, continuous, rustling sound. Turning my head sharply over my shoulder, to my horror and intense surprise I saw the whole mass of leaves and flowers undulating! Scarcely daring to breathe or move my fingers from the notes, I mechanically continued my playing. The fact that I was a prisoner behind a locked door forced itself on my mind and held me in my place, helpless. For a moment now and then as I watched the mass of verdure was quiet, only to begin upheaving again. What could it be? The suspense was becoming more than I could bear, and I was on the point of shrieking hysterically when my tongue refused utterance, and I felt as if life and strength were oozing out of my fingers.