"This comes of the sherry," observed my wife. "They will be seeing ghosts every night."
"But, my dear, you saw it as well as myself!"
I rose, my wife followed, and we went to the landing as before, and, sure enough, against the patch of moonlight cast through the window in the roof, was the arm again, and then a flutter of shadows, as if cast by garments.
"It was not the bough," said my wife. "If this had been seen immediately after the sherry I should not have been surprised, but—as it is now it is most extraordinary."
"I'll have this part of the house shut up," said I. Then I bade the maids once more spend the night in the kitchen, "and make yourselves lively on tea," I said—for I knew my wife would not allow another bottle of sherry to be given them. "To-morrow your beds shall be moved to the east wing."
"Beg pardon," said the cook, "I speaks in the name of all. We don't think we can remain in the house, but must leave the situation."
"That comes of the tea," said I to my wife. "Now," to the cook, "as you have had another fright, I will let you have a bottle of mulled port to-night."
"Sir," said the cook, "if you can get rid of the ghost, we don't want to leave so good a master. We withdraw the notice."
Next day I had all the servants' goods transferred to the east wing, and rooms were fitted up for them to sleep in. As their portion of the house was completely cut off from the west wing, the alarm of the domestics died away.
A heavy, stormy rain came on next week, the first token of winter misery.