Grant: I wasn't expecting you, sir.
Lincoln: No; but I couldn't keep away. How's it going?
They sit.
Grant: Meade sent word an hour and a half ago that Lee was surrounded all but two miles, which was closing in.
Lincoln: That ought about to settle it, eh?
Grant: Unless anything goes wrong in those two miles, sir. I'm expecting a further report from Meade every minute.
Lincoln: Would there be more fighting?
Grant: It will probably mean fighting through the night, more or less. But Lee must realise it's hopeless by the morning.
An Orderly (entering): A despatch, sir.
Grant: Yes.