But he could think of nothing else. He felt
it urgently needful to see Margaret. Night after night he dreamed that
she was at the point of death, and heavy fetters prevented him from
stretching out a hand to help her. At last he could stand it no more. He
told a brother surgeon that private business forced him to leave London,
and put the work into his hands. With no plan in his head, merely urged
by an obscure impulse, he set out for the village of Venning, which was
about three miles from Skene.
It was a tiny place, with one public-house serving as a hotel to the rare
travellers who found it needful to stop there, and Arthur felt that some
explanation of his presence was necessary. Having seen at the station an
advertisement of a large farm to let, he told the inquisitive landlady
that he had come to see it. He arrived late at night. Nothing could be
done then, so he occupied the time by trying to find out something about
the Haddos.
Oliver was the local magnate, and his wealth would have made him an easy
topic of conversation even without his eccentricity.
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