Free From Afar by John Russell Fearn Page B

believe,” Dr. Mason said, glancing at her, then at me, “that Mrs. Shaw is still suffering from the effects of the accident—”
    â€œNothing of the kind!” Beryl interrupted. “You made a thorough examination of me this morning and pronounced me quite fit to be discharged. You must remember it.”
    â€œYes,” Mason admitted. “That is true.”
    He looked at her for a moment as though trying to make up his mind about something, then he turned back to me again. “In accordance with your wishes, Mr. Shaw, I have had all the necessary arrangements made. Your car—repaired now I understand—is in the Crossways Garage. I had your home contacted and your housekeeper is expecting you and Mrs. Shaw today. A taxi will be here shortly at three o’clock. In fact,” Mason added, glancing through the window, “I believe it is here now.”
    He got to his feet and pressed a button. A porter came and took away the bags, retrieved from the car, then Beryl looked at me expectantly and rose from her chair. Without so much as a word of farewell or thanks to Mason she followed the porter from the room. It was so unlike her usual graciousness I just couldn’t understand it.
    â€œI must apologize for her, Doctor,” I said worriedly. “I’ve no idea why she is behaving like this. She seems to have forgotten everyday manners.”
    â€œAnd yet she reacted perfectly to every psychological test we gave her. So it isn’t a peculiar form of amnesia....” Mason’s craggy face became thoughtful for a moment; then finally he shrugged. “She’s the queerest patient I have ever known.”
    I shook the big hand he held out to me and he saw me to the door. Beryl was seated in the back of the taxi, waiting for me.
    â€œHe wants to know where we’re going,” she said, nodding to the driver. “Since I don’t know you’d better tell him.”
    â€œBut, Berry, you know where my home is: you’ve been to it many a time. Whatever’s the matter with your memory?”
    â€œSuppose you tell him where to go and stop bothering about my memory?”
    I hesitated for a moment, then turned to the driver:
    â€œKeep on going until you get to the village, then I’ll direct you from there.”
    He nodded and closed the door upon us when I had settled beside Beryl. Soon we were speeding down the Sanatorium driveway and so out into the main road.
    We had covered five miles and gone right past that fateful spot where we had had the collision before Beryl seemed to think it necessary to speak again, and then her words only served to deepen the confusion in my mind.
    â€œWhat are we going to do with our lives from now on, Richard Shaw?”
    â€œDid—did you call me—Richard Shaw?” I whispered.
    â€œYes, of course. That’s your name, isn’t it?”
    I caught at her hand and held it tightly.
    â€œListen, Berry, if this is some kind of a joke you are trying to keep up for God’s sake bring it to an end right now. I’ve had every bit as much as I can stand! Richard Shaw indeed! I’m Dick to you, and always have been, just as you are Berry to me.”
    The absurdity of having to explain such a thing to her did not occur to me at the moment. Actually I think I believed at that time that she definitely was a victim of some kind of brain trouble. And yet she did not look vague—anything but it. Her blue eyes were fixed on me, gazing, not exactly at me, but through me, to something beyond....
    â€œAll right,” she said presently, “It’s Dick from now on. But I still want to know what we are going to do with our lives. What does one usually do?”
    This was about the limit! I was beginning to think of myself as a teacher forced to instruct a grown woman with the brain of a child. What a task for a newly-married husband who had been looking forward to wedded bliss!
    â€œYou