Free From Afar by John Russell Fearn Page A

a queer expression settle on Beryl’s face. It was not the look of sudden illness but more of fear and intense perplexity.
    This seemed odd to me for I had never seen her afraid in all the time I had known her, and certainly never perplexed. Perhaps it lasted fifteen seconds, then, quite abruptly, her features went blank and her hands dropped from the wheel into her lap.
    â€œBeryl—!” I screamed, but it was too late then.
    Going at its present speed and uncontrolled, the car lost the crown of the road and hurtled straight for the bank. For a numbing split second I saw a telegraph pole hurtling towards me.
    The rest was an exploding, tearing hell of steel, glass and leather. Then—
    Darkness.
    * * * * * * *
    My mind is in complete confusion concerning the events that followed the smash. I have a dim remembrance of chaotic dreams, of visions of nurses going to and fro, and once the outlines of an operating theater pervaded my consciousness.... Until at last I became rational enough to be able to understand where I was, and ask questions.
    Sealed in a plaster cast from waist to shoulders I learned that I had sustained several broken ribs, a fractured arm, and multiple cuts and abrasions. But now it was only a matter of convalescence.
    â€œAnd my wife?” I asked the doctor in charge of my case. He did not answer immediately.
    â€œI want the truth,” I went on quickly. “Why don’t you answer my question?”
    He looked at me steadily and I felt the grip of horror.
    â€œDoc, you don’t mean that she’s—she’s dead?”
    â€œNo, not dead,” he reassured me. “She sustained multiple injuries from the crash just as you did, but we’ve fixed her up all right. As far as we can tell medically she is a normal woman again, except for one thing—the way she looks at you.”
    â€œThe—the way she looks at you?” I repeated in astonishment.
    â€œI don’t think I have ever seen such a strange light in the eyes of a woman before! It’s mysterious—eerie, yet somehow contemptuous. Her face though remains expressionless. All the pain she has endured has not even made her wince! Yet her nervous system is not in any way injured. I’m afraid I can’t explain it to you very well. You will have to see her for yourself—when you’re better—”
    With this he left me, and of course, from then onwards my one anxiety was to get well again and find out what had happened to my beloved Beryl. Even so it was another six weeks before my wish was gratified and by this time she too was ready for discharge. So, for the first time since the accident we met each other in Dr. Mason’s office.
    Now I realized what Mason had meant. To all outward appearances my wife was as young and good to look at as ever, trimly smart in the costume that had been provided for her, but there was a difference, an intense paleness of face, explainable perhaps by the ordeal she had been through; and those eyes! How changed they were indeed— how changed!
    Certainly she looked at me in full recognition, but with such indefinable insolence that my intended greeting died without being uttered. Instead I felt an uncommonly strong desire to hit her. I cannot describe what else I saw in her eyes; they were depthless, mysterious, had the peculiar quality of looking at me and yet at the same time beyond me to...somewhere.
    â€œYou are Richard Shaw, my husband, aren’t you?” she asked me in level tones.
    I stared at her. “Well of course I am!” I answered in amazement. “Of all the extraordinary questions!”
    She shrugged her shoulders.
    â€œSince we have been parted from each other so long I thought it as well to make sure.”
    Just for a moment I wondered if this was one of her mischievous tricks, then her utterly impassive expression convinced me otherwise. She had meant every word in all seriousness.
    â€œI