Blue Kingdom by Max Brand Read Free Book Online

image in muddy, rippling water. The features were dim, but all that could be seen were his own. It was a similarity that overrode all chance, or possibility, of doubt—it was not likeness, or kinship—it was the actual reproduction of the same man, the same flesh, the same spirit. As he stared, vague and vast thoughts arose in the mind of Carrick Dunmore and flooded dimly forward upon his consciousness. He had heard of such things as reincarnation.
    But his mind was set against the acceptance of anysuch nonsense. Of all men, none was more earthly minded, more concerned with the affairs of the moment only, than Carrick Dunmore. For that reason, he was shocked and upset to the core of his being. Indeed, he had to grip the back of a chair and look at the portrait again and again.
    He turned toward Elizabeth Furneaux, at last, and saw that she was looking first at the picture, and then at him, in fully as much amazement as he suffered.
    â€œIt’s the same. It’s the very same,” she said. She rubbed her knuckles across her eyes. “Good heavens, Carrick,” she exclaimed, “I must be losing my wits! Such things can’t be!” She went hastily to the window and threw it open, and he followed her, very glad of that air.
    â€œWe’ll have a look at it in the sun,” he said firmly. He brought the picture, therefore, straight to the window and held it where the sun flooded across it.
    There was, at first, an effect of making the whole thing vanish in confusion, which was perhaps caused by the gleam of the broken surface of the paint, and of the varnish that someone had applied some century or so before the original, apparently. But, when Carrick Dunmore’s eyes grew accustomed to the thing, he could see all that he had seen before, and even more. There was the effect of standing before a mirror with a very poor backing or rust instead of quicksilver, but as much as could be seen was perfect in his eyes.
    Elizabeth Furneaux, her eyes staring rather wildly, held the picture beside him and looked at him, and then at it, studying with a frown that grew more dark and lips that were more and more compressed. Atlength she went silently to the wall and hung the picture in its place. When she turned to Carrick Dunmore, she looked plainly frightened.
    â€œCarrick,” she said. “I don’t know. . . . What are you? A ghost?”
    â€œGhosts don’t eat four pounds of beefsteak,” he said.
    She smiled faintly. “This is something like algebra and advanced chemistry,” she said. “I can’t get my hand upon it. I can’t begin to understand it. But the thing’s there. You are Carrick Dunmore.”
    At this, Carrick answered grimly: “He slapped the face of the King of Scotland, took an earl’s castle, and put a whole herd of cattle in each vest pocket when he went out for a walk. Will you say that I’m Carrick Dunmore?”
    Her glance steadied him. “You speak perfectly well, Carrick,” she said, “when you forget yourself. You’re only ungrammatical because you’re careless. Well, about the similarity between you and the picture . . . it isn’t just the features that matter to me. It’s the expression. That’s the amazing thing. The expression is the same.”
    â€œIt is,” he admitted finally, and he drew in a quick breath; he still had need of air.
    She concluded briefly: “People don’t have the same expression without having the same sort of mind and nature . . . I . . . but I don’t want to talk about it. It’s too spooky.”
    He agreed with her. It fairly made his flesh crawl, and he was glad to go outdoors with her a moment later. She pulled on a pair of old gloves, and tied a leather apron around her.
    â€œWhat are you going to do, Elizabeth?” he asked.
    â€œI’m going out to the blacksmith shop. There’s a broken brake rod that I have to weld.”
    He