***** From the comatose state, Spurlock passed into that of the babbling fever; but that guarding instinct which is called subconsciousness held a stout leash on his secret. This costume, though somewhat extravagant, displayed his slight, but perfectly-proportioned figure to the greatest advantage. The prison gates were besieged like the entrance of a booth at a fair; and the Condemned Hold where he was confined, and to which visitors were admitted at the moderate rate of a guinea a-head, had quite the appearance of a showroom. Berserker, Spurlock rose, head down, and charged. "Devil!" cried the widow, catching his arm, and gazing with frantic eagerness in his face, "how many years will you give my son before you execute your terrible threat?" "NINE!" answered Jonathan sternly. Behind her stood Caliban, chuckling to himself, and grinning from ear to ear.
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