“The goat doth but hurt himself, Dulcie, to pull too hard at the tether. Neither thou nor I can turn over the pages of the Book of Life. It may be that we shall both find souls whom we thought to miss. May-be, in the very last moment of life, the Lord may save souls that have been greatly prayed for, though they that be left behind never wit it till they join the company above. We poor blindlings must leave that in His hands unto whom all hearts be open, and who willeth not the death of any sinner. ‘As His majesty is, so is His mercy.’ Of this one thing am I sure, that no soul shall be found in Hell which should have rather chosen Heaven. They shall go ‘to their own place:’ the place they are fit for, and the place they choose.”
“But how can we forget them?” she replieth.
“If we are to forget them,” saith Aunt Joyce, “the Lord will know how to compass it. I have reached the end of my tether, Dulcie; and to pull thereat doth alway hurt me. I will step back, by thy leave.”
As I listed the two voices, both something touched, methought it should be one soul in especial of whom both were thinking, and I guessed that were Mr Leonard Norris.
“And yet,” saith my Lady Stafford, “that thought hath its perilous side, Joyce. ’Tis so easy for a man to think he shall be saved at the last minute, howsoe’er he live.”
“Be there any thoughts that have not a perilous side?” saith Aunt Joyce. “As for that, Dulcie, my rule is, to be as easy as ever I can in my charitable hopes for other folk; and as hard as ever I can on this old woman Joyce, that I do find such rare hard work to pull of the right road. I cannot help other folks’ lives: but I can see to it that I make mine own calling sure. That is the safe side, I reckon.”
“The safe side, ay: but men mostly love to walk on the smooth side.”
“Why, so do I,” quoth Aunt Joyce: “but I would be on the side that shall come forth smooth at the end.”
“Ah, if all would but think of that!” saith my Lady, and she fetched a sigh.
“We should all soon be in Heaven,” Aunt Joyce made answer. “But thou art right, Dulcie. He that shall leave to look to his chart till the last hour of his journey is like to reach home very weary and worn, if he come at all. He that will go straight on, and reckoneth to get home after some fashion, is not like to knock at the gate ere it be shut up. The easiest matter in all the world is to miss Heaven.”