Historical fiction, American; New England -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Short stories
Nor could the young bride any longer deny that a radiance was
breaking through the mist, and changing its dim hue to a dusky
red, which continually grew more vivid, as if brilliant particles
were interfused with the gloom. Now, also, the cloud began to
roll away from the mountain, while, as it heavily withdrew, one
object after another started out of its impenetrable obscurity
into sight, with precisely the effect of a new creation, before
the indistinctness of the old chaos had been completely swallowed
up. As the process went on, they saw the gleaming of water close
at their feet, and found themselves on the very border of a
mountain lake, deep, bright, clear, and calmly beautiful,
spreading from brim to brim of a basin that had been scooped out
of the solid rock. A ray of glory flashed across its surface. The
pilgrims looked whence it should proceed, but closed their eyes
with a thrill of awful admiration, to exclude the fervid splendor
that glowed from the brow of a cliff impending over the enchanted
lake. For the simple pair had reached that lake of mystery, and
found the longsought 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.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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