He heard John Brown behind him and stopped. He knew that strong, elastic step. He heard the voice—full, clear and renewed with rest.
“Douglass,” Brown asked, “have you reached your decision?”
Without turning, Douglass answered. And his voice was weary and beaten.
“I am going back.”
The old man made no sound. Douglass turned and saw him standing straight and slender in the morning light, a gentle breeze lifting his soft white hair, his wrinkled face carved against the sky. With a cry of utter woe Douglass threw himself upon the ground, encircling the slight frame in his arms.
“Oh, John—John Brown—don’t go! You’ll be killed! It’s a trap! You’ll never get out alive—I beg you, don’t go! Don’t go!”
Terrible sobs shook him; he could not stop.
“Douglass! Douglass!”
Brown took him by the shoulders, pressed his face against him, spoke as to a child.
“For shame, Douglass! Everything will be all right.” Then, when he saw the big man was still, he added, “Come and go with me. You shall see that everything will be all right.”