"A dream, like hers, stole upon my own life."

"It did," said Redlaw.

"A love, as like hers," pursued the Phantom, "as my inferior nature
might cherish, arose in my own heart. I was too poor to bind its
object to my fortune then, by any thread of promise or entreaty. I
loved her far too well, to seek to do it. But, more than ever I
had striven in my life, I strove to climb! Only an inch gained,
brought me something nearer to the height. I toiled up! In the
late pauses of my labour at that time,--my sister (sweet
companion!) still sharing with me the expiring embers and the
cooling hearth,--when day was breaking, what pictures of the future
did I see!"

"I saw them, in the fire, but now," he murmured. "They come back
to me in music, in the wind, in the dead stillness of the night, in
the revolving years."

"--Pictures of my own domestic life, in aftertime, with her who was
the inspiration of my toil. Pictures of my sister, made the wife
of my dear friend, on equal terms--for he had some inheritance, we
none--pictures of our sobered age and mellowed happiness, and of
the golden links, extending back so far, that should bind us, and
our children, in a radiant garland," said the Phantom.

"Pictures," said the haunted man, "that were delusions. Why is it
my doom to remember them too well!"