The Great Staircase at Landover Hall

I was spending a few days in the little village of Landover, simply
for the purpose of enjoying the beautiful scenery of the neighborhood.
I had come up from Mexico because the weather was growing too warm in
that region, and I was glad of the chance to vary my interesting and
sometimes exciting travels with a little rest in the midst of this
rural quiet.

It was early summer, and I had started out for an afternoon walk,
when, just upon the outskirts of the village, my attention was
attracted by a little group at a gateway which opened upon the road.
There were two women and an elderly man. The women appeared to be
taking leave of the man, and one of them frequently put her
handkerchief to her eyes. I walked slowly, because I did not wish to
intrude upon what seemed to be an affecting leave-taking; so when I
reached the gate the women had gone, but the man was still standing
there, looking after them.

Glancing over the low fence, I saw a very pretty grove, apparently not
well kept, and some distance back, among the trees, a large, old
house. The man was looking at me with a curiosity which country people
naturally betray when they see a stranger, and, as I was glad to have
someone to talk to, I stopped.

"Is this one of the old family mansions of Landover?" I asked. He was
a good-looking man, with the air of a head gardener.

"It is not one of them, sir," he answered; "it is the only one in the
village. It is called Landover Hall, and the other houses growed up
around it."