Burke, who was up to the pitch of mammon's inspiration, and all the more that he had been fretted by being so far foiled by an idiot, sat watching his opportunity. The two were silent, only occasionally looking at each other, and then at Jamie, as he lay still sleeping on the bed. At length Burke said, "Shall we do it now?" to which Hare replied, "He is too strong for you yet." Burke accordingly waited a little, as probably misgivings crossed him that the conflict would be too furious to risk, and the noise might attract attention at that hour. Jamie got some more moments to live. But this could not continue long; nor did it. Burke, become hot with impatience, suddenly threw himself upon the still sleeping simpleton, and, clutching him by the neck, attempted to strangle him. The onset roused the instinctive energies of the lad, who had sense enough to see his danger. The fear which in other circumstances would have made him run to avoid his enemies, seemed to pass into courage, and nerve him to sudden desperation. He clutched his assaulter with great force--his eye darted forth his fury--the mantling foam stood upon his lips like a lather--and throwing off the tiger with a bound, he sprang to the floor, stood erect, and awaited another onset. Nor did he wait long. Burke, in his turn, roused by opposition to the height of his wrath, again seized him, with the intention to throw him; but Jamie had the greater strength, and, besides, he fought for his life, so that he was again likely to become the master, when Burke cried out to Hare, who had hitherto kept back, as if afraid to enter into the struggle, to come forward and assist him, otherwise "I will stick a knife in you." The threat had its effect, for Hare, rushing forward at the very moment when Jamie was mastering his enemy, tripped up his heels, and laid him on his back on the floor. Not a moment was now to be lost, as the continued thumping and knocking against the furniture and the screams of the lad might reach the Close, and they must do their work, as we have said, without a knife, (which would have quickly brought matters to a termination,) otherwise no price at Surgeon's Square. The next moment saw Burke extended upon the body of the still struggling simpleton, while Hare, at his head, was engaged in the old process of holding the nose and mouth. Even after this, it was still a struggle of considerable duration. The men were sweating and breathing loud with their mere efforts to kill, and Burke, roused to fury, was often thrown off, only to spring again with greater ferocity. By and by, Jamie's struggles got weaker and weaker--relapses into stillness--wild upraisings again--spasmodic jerks of effort--those indescribable sounds which the doctors say attend cynanche--all receding gradually to the last sign. Nor did they quit their grasp till they were pretty sure they had effected their purpose. They hung over him--listened for breathings--made surety surer. Daft Jamie is dead!