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XIV. Effect of the Letter—Sunrise

           Boldwoodseizeditandopenedit,expectinganotheranonymousone—sogreatlyarepeople’sideasofprobabilityameresensethatprecedentwillrepeatitself.

           "Idon’tthinkitisforyou,sir,"saidtheman,whenhesawBoldwood’saction."Thoughthereisnoname,Ithinkitisforyourshepherd."

           Boldwoodlookedthenattheaddress—

           TotheNewShepherd,

           WeatherburyFarm,

           NearCasterbridge

           "Oh—whatamistake!—itisnotmine.Norisitformyshepherd.ItisforMissEverdene’s.Youhadbettertakeitontohim—GabrielOak—andsayIopeneditinmistake."

           Atthismoment,ontheridge,upagainsttheblazingsky,afigurewasvisible,liketheblacksnuffinthemidstofacandle-flame.Thenitmovedandbegantobustleaboutvigorouslyfromplacetoplace,carryingsquareskeletonmasses,whichwereriddledbythesamerays.Asmallfigureonallfoursfollowedbehind.ThetallformwasthatofGabrielOak;thesmallonethatofGeorge;thearticlesincourseoftransitwerehurdles.

           "Wait,"saidBoldwood."That’sthemanonthehill.I’lltakethelettertohimmyself."

           ToBoldwooditwasnownolongermerelyalettertoanotherman.Itwasanopportunity.Exhibitingafacepregnantwithintention,heenteredthesnowyfield.

           Gabriel,atthatminute,descendedthehilltowardstheright.Theglowstretcheddowninthisdirectionnow,andtouchedthedistantroofofWarren’sMalthouse—whithertheshepherdwasapparentlybent:Boldwoodfollowedatadistance.

           

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