‘He’s dying,’ Ronald answered, the quick tears once more finding the easy road to his eyes as usual.
‘I considered, as a mother, it was my duty to warn him to take a little thought about his soul.’
‘His soul!’ Ronald exclaimed in astonishment. ‘Ernest’s soul! Why, mother, dear Ernest has no need to look after his soul. He doesn’t take that sordid, petty, limited view of our relations with eternity, and of our relations with the Infinite, which makes them all consist of the miserable, selfish, squalid desire to save our own poor personal little souls at all hazards. Ernest has something better and nobler to think of, I can assure you, than such a mere self-centred idea as that.’
‘Ronald!’ Lady Breton exclaimed, drawing herself up with much dignity; ‘how on earth you, who have always pretended to be a religious person, can utter such a shocking and wicked sentiment as that, really passes my comprehension. What in the world is religion for, I should like to know, if it isn’t to teach us how to save our own souls? But the particular thing I want to speak to you about is just this: couldn’t you manage to induce Ernest to see the Archdeacon a little, and let the Archdeacon speak to him about his deplorable spiritual condition? I thought about you both so much at church yesterday, when the dear Archdeacon was preaching such a beautiful sermon; his text was like this, as far as I can remember it. “There is a way that seemeth right unto a man, but the end thereof are the ways of death.” I couldn’t help thinking all the time of my own two poor rebellious boys, and of the path that their misguided notions were leading them on. For I believe Ernest does really somehow persuade himself that he’s in the right—it’s inconceivable, but it’s the fact; and I’m afraid the end thereof will be the ways of death; and then, as the dear Archdeacon said, “After death the judgment.” Oh, Ronald, when I think of your poor dear brother Ernest’s open unbelief, it makes me tremble for his future, so that I couldn’t rest upon my bed until I’d been to see you and urged you to go and try to save him.’
‘Mother,’ Ronald said with that tone in which he was well accustomed to answering Lady Le Breton’s religious harangues; ‘I don’t think you need feel any uneasiness whatever on dear Ernest’s account, so far as all that’s concerned. What does HE want with saving his soul, mother? “Whosoever will save his life shall lose it.” Remember what is written: “Not every one that saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven.”’
‘But, Ronald,’ Lady Le Breton continued, half angrily, ‘consider his unbelief, his dreadful opinions, his errors of doctrine! How on earth can we be happy about him when we think of those?’
‘I don’t think, Mother,’ Ronald answered gently, ‘that Infinite Justice and Infinite Love take much account of a man’s opinions. They take account of his life and soul only, not of the correctness of his propositions in dogmatic theology; “Other sheep have I which are not of this fold—them also must I bring.”’
‘It seems to me, Ronald,’ Lady Le Breton rejoined coldly, ‘that you don’t in the least care for whatever is most distinctive and characteristic in the whole of Christian doctrine. You talk so very very differently on religious subjects from that dear, good, excellent Archdeacon.’