CHAPTER XXXI.

BRAND PLUCKED FROM THE BURNING. "Circles and circles of brightening light breaking over me; a faint, but delicious sense of comfort; a swift vanishing of the distorted phantoms which have left me here for dead--a kind and dear awakening. "What tender face is this that is bending over me? What soft bosom is this upon which my head is lying? "Have I bridged at last the chasm of mortality, and is this my fate in the immortal world? "I smile, if this be so, at the idle fears of those who prophesied for me a hell. This …