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 towards 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 forever.

'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