But the news was too good to last. Secretary Cortelyou walked across the street to the press and telegraph tents and explained that the sentence. “He is better than at this time yesterday,” should be stricken out. Then the sky was black again.
The bravery of Mrs. McKinley in this last moment was only paralleled by the heroism with which the President himself, murmuring the words of “Nearer, My God, to Thee,” turned his face away from all so dear to him in life, and passed into the last and eternal sleep.
All through the struggle of Friday when the erratic heart of the President leaped and then failed, Mrs. McKinley’s courage had been at the highest point. The beautiful womanhood within her, the memories of thirty years of perfect married life, the recollections of the tender devotions of the dying President, rose and gave her the strength needed to face the worst.
She remained in her apartments surrounded by friends, anxious to be by the President’s side, but obedient to Dr. Rixey’s wishes that she should not come until she was called.
Oxygen had been given the President, and under its influence he had slightly revived. He told Dr. Rixey that he realized he was about to die, and he asked for Mrs. McKinley.
She came and knelt down by his bed and his eyes rested lovingly upon her. His first solicitude was for her—her care, her happiness. All the love of three decades shone in his face as he feebly put out his hands and covered her own with his.
He knew that he was dying, she only half apprehended it. But even in such a trial she kept herself up most bravely, lifting her tear-stained face to Dr. Rixey’s and exclaiming:
“I know that you will save him. I cannot let him go. The country cannot spare him.”
The President’s strength did not last long. Unconsciousness returned to him, and they led Mrs. McKinley away.
When she was without the room Mr. Milburn told her that the President could hardly live until morning.