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"
Sherton
Turnpike
.
The
keeper
of
that
gate
is
the
sleepiest
man
between
here
and
London
—
Dan
Randall
,
that
’
s
his
name
—
knowed
en
for
years
,
when
he
was
at
Casterbridge
gate
.
Between
the
lameness
and
the
gate
’
tis
a
done
job
.
"
They
now
advanced
with
extreme
caution
.
Nothing
was
said
until
,
against
a
shady
background
of
foliage
,
five
white
bars
were
visible
,
crossing
their
route
a
little
way
ahead
.
"
Hush
—
we
are
almost
close
!
"
said
Gabriel
.
"
Amble
on
upon
the
grass
,
"
said
Coggan
.
The
white
bars
were
blotted
out
in
the
midst
by
a
dark
shape
in
front
of
them
.
The
silence
of
this
lonely
time
was
pierced
by
an
exclamation
from
that
quarter
.
"
Hoy
-
a
-
hoy
!
Gate
!
"
It
appeared
that
there
had
been
a
previous
call
which
they
had
not
noticed
,
for
on
their
close
approach
the
door
of
the
turnpike
-
house
opened
,
and
the
keeper
came
out
half
-
dressed
,
with
a
candle
in
his
hand
.
The
rays
illumined
the
whole
group
.
"
Keep
the
gate
close
!
"
shouted
Gabriel
.
"
He
has
stolen
the
horse
!
"
"
Who
?
"
said
the
turnpike
-
man
.
Gabriel
looked
at
the
driver
of
the
gig
,
and
saw
a
woman
—
Bathsheba
,
his
mistress
.
