Another thunderstorm came out of the north and a few minutes’ play of the lightning brought rain in a heavy downpour. A bluster wind blew up from the west to complete the cheerlessness of the night. Shortly after two o’clock the physicians and nurses detected a weakening of the heart action. The pulse fluttered and weakened and the President sank toward collapse. The end appeared to be at hand. Restoratives were speedily applied and the physicians fought the battle with all the reserve forces of science. Action was immediate and decisive. Digitalis and strychnia were administered, and as a last resort saline solution was injected into the veins. A general alarm went speeding to the consulting physicians and trained nurses as fast as messengers, the telegraph and telephone could carry it. The restoratives did not at once prove effective and it was realized that the President was in an extremely critical condition. That realization, with the shadow of death behind it, led to another call, and that a summons to the Cabinet, relatives and close personal friends of the President. The messengers who returned with the doctors and nurses were hurried off after those within reach, and to those who were absent from the city telegrams conveying the painful tidings were quickly transmitted. The scene about the house and in the storm-swept street was dramatic in its action and setting, and the spirit of the tragedy was on those who looked upon it. A messenger who darted into the rain and was whisked away in an electric cab gave the outside watchers the first intimation of the ill news from within. At the same moment new lights burned within the windows of the Milburn residence. Soon the word was passed out that the President had partly collapsed and was critically ill. It was a confirmation that was hardly needed, for the fact had been established by action that needed no words. Mrs. McKinley went through the long night of sorrow as only the thoroughbred woman does. She slept, but that she could have slept much was impossible. But no traces of the night’s agony showed as she turned her serene face upon early callers next morning. Mrs. Barber, Mrs. McKinley’s sister, was present, and with her the Misses Barber, her daughters, and her son, Assistant Paymaster Barber of the Navy. When the two sisters met, Mrs. McKinley came nearer to breaking down than she had at any time. Her eyes overflowed and her voice broke. But she soon recovered and was again the strong, consoling wife of a stricken mate.