"Ask Lieutenant Green to step here."
The sentinel called a marine to take his place and went in search of the commander of the company.
Lee lifted his eyes to the hills of Maryland. But a few miles beyond the first range lay the town of Sharpsburg, where Destiny was setting the stage for the bloodiest battle in the history of the republic. A little farther on lay the town of Gettysburg, over whose ragged hills Death was hovering in search of camping ground.
Did his prophetic soul pierce the future? Never had he been more profoundly depressed. The event he was witnessing was but the prelude to a tragedy he felt to be from this hour inevitable.
Green saluted in answer to his summons.
"I want you to witness an interview which I will have with John Brown, and receive my final orders!"
"The leader is old John Brown?"
"Lieutenant Stuart has identified him."
A shout from a crowd of boys who had climbed the trees of the next street caused Lee to turn toward the gate as the invader and Stuart passed through.
As Lee confronted Brown no more startling contrast could be presented by two men born under the same flag. John Brown with his bristling, unkempt beard, his two revolvers and sword hanging and dangling on his gaunt frame, his eyes glittering and red from the loss of two nights' sleep, the incarnation of Lawlessness; Lee, the trained soldier, the inheritor of centuries of constructive genius, the aristocrat in taste, the humblest and gentlest Christian in spirit, the lover of Peace, of Order.