For the simple pair had reached that lake of mystery and found the long-sought shrine of the Great Carbuncle.  They threw their arms around each other and trembled at their own success, for as the legends of this wondrous gem rushed thick upon their memory they felt themselves marked out by fate, and the consciousness was fearful.  Often from childhood upward they had seen it shining like a distant star, and now that star was throwing its intensest lustre on their hearts.  They seemed changed to one another’s eyes in the red brilliancy that flamed upon their cheeks, while it lent the same fire to the lake, the rocks and sky, and to the mists which had rolled back before its power.  But with their next glance they beheld an object that drew their attention even from the mighty stone.  At the base of the cliff, directly beneath the Great Carbuncle, appeared the figure of a man with his arms extended in the act of climbing and his face turned upward as if to drink the full gush of splendor.  But he stirred not, no more than if changed to marble.

“It is the Seeker,” whispered Hannah, convulsively grasping her husband’s arm.  “Matthew, he is dead.”

“The joy of success has killed him,” replied Matthew, trembling violently.  “Or perhaps the very light of the Great Carbuncle was death.”

“’The Great Carbuncle’!” cried a peevish voice behind them.  “The great humbug!  If you have found it, prithee point it out to me.”

They turned their heads, and there was the cynic with his prodigious spectacles set carefully on his nose, staring now at the lake, now at the rocks, now at the distant masses of vapor, now right at the Great Carbuncle itself, yet seemingly as unconscious of its light as if all the scattered clouds were condensed about his person.  Though its radiance actually threw the shadow of the unbeliever at his own feet as he turned his back upon the glorious jewel, he would not be convinced that there was the least glimmer there.

“Where is your great humbug?” he repeated.  “I challenge you to make me see it.”

“There!” said Matthew, incensed at such perverse blindness, and turning the cynic round toward the illuminated cliff.  “Take off those abominable spectacles, and you cannot help seeing it.”

Now, these colored spectacles probably darkened the cynic’s sight in at least as great a degree as the smoked glasses through which people gaze at an eclipse.  With resolute bravado, however, he snatched them from his nose and fixed a bold stare full upon the ruddy blaze of the Great Carbuncle.  But scarcely had he encountered it when, with a deep, shuddering groan, he dropped his head and pressed both hands across his miserable eyes.  Thenceforth there was in very truth no light of the Great Carbuncle, nor any other light on earth, nor light of heaven itself, for the poor cynic.  So long accustomed to view all objects through a medium that deprived them of every glimpse of brightness, a single flash of so glorious a phenomenon, striking upon his naked vision, had blinded him for ever.