"Oh, Harry, I thought you were dead."
"I'm very much alive," Harry said with a tremulous laugh.
"But Harry, what does all that black on the door mean?"
"It means," said Harry, savagely, "that though the mills of the gods grind slowly they grind surely—Owen's dead."
"Owen!" Her eyes large with terror, Blount's words ringing in her ears— "I shouldn't like to be the man at the bottom of this when Mr. Marvin hears of it." "'Owen," she repeated in a breathless whisper.
"Harry, you didn't kill him?"
"He didn't give me the chance. He was dead when I got here—overdose of morphine Dr. Stevens said. Seems he was a drug fiend."
"Why that was the reason," Pauline said, her filling with tears. "He was crazy, he didn't know what he was doing. Poor Owen, poor Owen"— then turned hastily to safer topics. "But I thought you went to Chicago for a week."
"I did, but, you'll laugh, Pauline—I know it sounds fool—the Mummy came to me just as she came to me in Montana. I took the first train home. I knew you were in danger—I knew it was a warning. I'll ever trust, you out of my sight again—you've got to marry me now."
Pauline shrank back from his kisses. "No, no, Harry I can't—I won't —there was a woman on the train said my mother was an Egyptian."