ctacles, 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.

"Matthew," said Hannah, clinging to him, "let us go hence."

Matthew saw that she was faint, and, kneeling down, supported her in
his arms while he threw some of the thrillingly-cold water of the
enchanted lake upon her face and bosom. It revived her, but could not
renovate her courage.

"Yes, dearest," cried Matthew, pressing her tremulous form to his
breast; "we will go hence and return to our humble cottage. The
blessed sunshine and the quiet moonlight shall come through our
window. We will kindle the cheerful glow of our hearth at eventide and
be happy in its light. But never again will we desire more light than
all the world may share with us."

"No," said his bride, "for how could we live by day or sleep by night
in this awful blaze of the Great Carbuncle?"

Out of the hollow of their hands they drank each a draught from the
lake, which presented them its waters uncontaminated by an earthly
lip. Then, lending their guidance to the blinded cynic, who uttered
not a word, and even stifled his groans in his own most wretched
heart, they began to descend the mountain. Yet as they left the shore,
till then untrodden, of the spirit's lake, they threw a farewell
glance toward the cliff and beheld the vapors gathering in dense
volumes, through which the gem burned duskily.

As touching the other pilgrims of the Great Carbuncle, the legend goes
on to tell that the worshipful Master Ichabod Pigsnort soon gave up
the quest as a desperate speculation, and wisely resolved to betake
himself again to his warehouse, near the town-dock, in Boston. But as
he passed through the Notch of the mountains a war