A half-muffled noise of light wheels interrupted him.

Boldwood turned back into the road.

It was the mail-cart--a crazy, two-wheeled vehicle, hardly heavy enough to resist a puff of wind.

The driver held out a letter.

Boldwood seized it and opened it, expecting another anonymous one--so greatly are people's ideas of probability a mere sense that precedent will repeat itself.
"I don't think it is for you, sir," said the man, when he saw Boldwood's action.