The vestibule of heaven, in which souls tarry in order to make their preparations, and to be prepared for the feast of eternity, can scarcely be an abode of pure suffering. Heart and mind, as they exist in the _anima separata_--that is, understanding and love--are at rest. On earth mind and heart are the source of the greatest pain as well as the greatest joy. The severest pain of body may be accompanied by happiness and a mind at rest, whereas remorse makes life unbearable. Hidden criminals at large have not unfrequently given themselves up to justice in order to arrive at peace by a public execution, that being the penalty demanded by their tortured conscience. Death, however ignominious, rather than remorse--the backbite of inwit, in the quaint language of our forefathers. Remorse is not in the organs of sense, but a purely intellectual operation, proper to man. It cannot be softened by worldly prosperity or riches, fame or success. On the other hand, a good conscience is a well-spring of happiness, be the outward circumstances of a man's life what they may. Bodily pain would add to the torture of remorse, just as it might deaden the joy of a good conscience, _per accidens_, as theologians say. Conjointly with the mind, the heart causes the keenest sufferings and the deepest joys of human life, joys and sufferings which are acted upon in the same way indirectly by pain of body. A severe toothache, for instance, quickens the pangs of remorse, whilst it deadens joy proceeding either from the intellect or the heart. It would madden a bride on her wedding morning, without in reality affecting her happiness. The root of both joy and grief is in the soul, not in the body. Conscience is the "worm which never dieth"--that is, hell, the torment created by man himself for his own punishment. The same applies to Purgatory, as far as conscience has been sinned against. The soul has created its own torment, but in Purgatory the fires die out because they deal with the _anima separata_, never with the senses. In each case the nature of the fire, which may not be material and is exercised on spirits, must remain mysterious to us. At least we can understand it by analogy. Remorse in the tortured soul of a murderer is sufficient to destroy the prosperous and pampered life of the body. Intensify it by the measure of eternity, and it may alone constitute hell. That is probably what theologians mean when they say that the fire of hell and that of Purgatory are identical. What fire is to the body, that burning sorrow is to the spirit, who sees things in their true light, and weighs lost opportunities in the balance of the next world.