The tall form was that of Gabriel Oak; the small one that of George; the articles in course of transit were hurdles.
"Wait," said Boldwood.

"That's the man on the hill.

I'll take the letter to him myself." To Boldwood it was now no longer merely a letter to another man.

It was an opportunity.

Exhibiting a face pregnant with intention, he entered the snowy field.
Gabriel, at that minute, descended the hill towards the right.