" - 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!"

"Delusions," echoed the Phantom in its changeless voice, and 
glaring on him with its changeless eyes.  "For my friend (in whose 
breast my confidence was locked as in my own), passing between me 
and the centre of the system of my hopes and struggles, won her to 
himself, and shattered my frail universe.  My sister, doubly dear, 
doubly devoted, doubly cheerful in my home, lived on to see me 
famous, and my old ambition so rewarded when its spring was broken, 
and then - "

"Then died," he interposed.  "Died, gentle as ever; happy; and with 
no concern but for her brother.  Peace!"

The Phantom watched him silently.

"Remembered!" said the haunted man, after a pause.  "Yes.  So well 
remembered, that even now, when years have passed, and nothing is 
more idle or more visionary to me than the boyish love so long 
outlived, I think of it with sympathy, as if it were a younger 
brother's or a son's.  Sometimes I even wonder when her heart first 
inclined to him, and how it had been affected towards me. - Not 
lightly, once, I think. - But that is nothing.  Early unhappiness, 
a wound from a hand I loved and trusted, and a loss that nothing 
can replace, outlive such fancies."

"Thus," said the Phantom, "I bear within me a Sorrow and a Wrong.  
Thus I prey upon myself.  Thus, memory is my curse; and, if I could 
forget my sorrow and my wrong, I would!"

"Mocker!" said the Chemist, leaping up, and making, with a wrathful 
hand, at the throat of his other self.  "Why have I always that 
taunt in my ears?"

"Forbear!" exclaimed the Spectre in an awful voice.  "Lay a hand on 
Me, and die!"

He stopped midway, as if its words had paralysed him, and stood 
looking on it.  It had glided from him; it had its arm raised high 
in warning; and a smile passed over its unearthly features, as it 
reared its dark figure in triumph.

"If I could forget my sorrow and wrong, I would," the Ghost 
repeated.  "If I could forget my sorrow and my wrong, I would!"

"Evil spirit of myself," returned the haunted man, in a low, 
trembling tone, "my life is darkened by that incessant whisper."

"It is an echo," said the Phantom.

"If it be an echo of my thoughts - as now, indeed, I know it is," 
rejoined the haunted man, "why should I, therefore, be tormented?  
It is not a selfish thought.  I suffer it to range beyond myself.  
All men and women have their sorrows, - most of them their wrongs; 
ingratitude, and sordid jealousy, and interest, besetting all 
degrees of life.  Who would not forget their sorrows and their 
wrongs?"

"Who would not, truly, and be happier and better for it?" said the 
Phantom.

"These revolutions of years, which we commemorate," proceeded 
Redlaw, "what do THEY recall!  Are there any minds in which they do 
not re-awaken some sorrow, or some trouble?  What is the 
remembrance of the old man who was here to-night?  A tissue of 
sorrow and trouble."

"But common natures," said the Phantom, with its evil smile upon 
its glassy face, "unenlightened minds and ordinary spirits, do not 
feel or reason on these things like men of higher cultivation and 
profounder thought."

"Tempter," answered Redlaw, "whose hollow look and voice I dread 
more than words can express, and from whom some dim foreshadowing 
of greater fear is stealing over me while I speak, I hear again an 
echo of my own mind."

"Receive it as a proof that I am powerful," returned the Ghost.  
"Hear what I offer!  Forget the sorrow, wrong, and trouble you have 
known!"

"Forget them!" he repeated.

"I have the power to cancel their remembrance - to leave but very 
faint, confused traces of them, that will die out soon," returned 
the Spectre.  "Say!  Is it done?"

"Stay!" cried the haunted man, arresting by a terrified gesture the 
uplifted hand.  "I tremble with distrust and doubt of you; and the 
dim fear you cast upon me deepens into a nameless horror I can 
hardly bear. - I would not deprive myself of any kindly