Douglass was steadfastly opposed to this trend. No possible good, he said, could come out of the Negro’s lining up with the “Party of the South.” It had been faithful to the slaveholding class during slavery, all through the war, and was today faithful to the same ideals. “I hope and believe,” he told friends, “that Abraham Lincoln’s party will prove itself equally faithful to its friends ... friends with black faces who during the war were eyes to your blind, shelter to your shelterless, when flying from the lines of the enemy.... Leave these men no longer compelled to wade to the ballot-box through blood.... A government that can give liberty in its constitution ought to have the power in its administration to protect and defend that liberty.” By midsummer it was clear that the campaign would be a hard one. James G. Blaine, the Republican candidate, was a popular figure. Grover Cleveland, Democratic candidate, was hardly known outside his own state. But the issues were not fought around two personalities. When Douglass returned to Washington in August he heard about Miss Amelia. “She wasn’t sick at all,” Helen told him. “Why didn’t you let me know? I would have come.” Douglass was deeply distressed. “There was no time. She wouldn’t have wanted us to call you from your work when there was nothing you could do.” She spoke gently as to an unhappy child, but her eyes were filled with tears. And Douglass, beholding the understanding and compassion that lay in her blue eyes, could not look away. A minute or an hour--time did not matter, for the meaning of many years was compressed in that instant. No word was said, their hands did not touch, but in that moment the course of their lives changed. Helen spoke first, a little breathlessly. “Mr. Haley is breaking up the house. I’d--I’d like to take my vacation, now that you’re back. I’ll--I’ll go home for a little while.” He had turned away, his hand shifting the papers on his desk. He did not look at her. “Miss Pitts, may I--May I call to see you this evening?” he asked. “Yes, Mr. Douglass,” Helen Pitts answered simply. “I’ll be at home.” The next morning Douglass called on a minister who was also his close friend. He told him that he was going to be married. “I’d like for you to perform the ceremony.” The minister was all smiling congratulation. The announcement took him wholly by surprise. He had heard no whisper of romance involving the great Frederick Douglass who, for all his sixty odd years, was a handsome figure of a man. The minister beamed. “You’re very wise. A man needs a good wife! And who is the fortunate lady?” He repeated the name, trying to place it. Douglass’ next words brought him to his feet. “Douglass!” Real alarm sounded in his voice. “You can’t! It’s suicide!” Douglass smiled quietly. A warm peace filled his heart. He knew that all the years of his living had not been barren. All the time he had been growing into understanding.