ain on each side.
Some of the Jewish horse close round.

"Keep off, men!" shouts Manasseh. "Would ye attack a man fifty to one?"

Blows fall faster and breath comes in short gasps.

The Moslem's horse gives way beneath him, and falls with a shriek
backwards. The gallant youth springs to his feet, then throws up his
arms and falls. His turban drops off from his brow, and, for the first
time, Manasseh recognizes Kedar.

He turns sick. Is the Moslem dead? No, his heart still beats. "Here,
men, take him into that house. I will seek him later."

On goes the young leader to a fresh scene of battle. Alas! in the
meantime the poorly-armed Jews have been everywhere driven back. The
Moslems have entered the citadel; the Jews give way before them
everywhere. Even his own hopeful spirit cannot revive them. They are
seized with a panic and fly, leaving the brave youth almost alone.

Manasseh was soon overpowered, bound, and thrown into the corner of a
great hall of the citadel, where he lay apparently forgotten, listening,
with heavy heart, to the shrieks and cries of his countrymen without,
and to the hum of war, gradually growing fainter, until it ceased, and
he knew that the conflict was over. The Moslems began to enter the hall,
among them Mohammed.

The prophet took his seat at the end of the apartment, and presently
several of the chief citizens were brought in with hands bound. Manasseh
perceived that a tribunal was being held, and, from his corner, listened
eagerly to the sentence passed upon each.

It soon appeared that treasure was the prophet's aim. Exorbitant demands
were made upon the rich merchants, who, pale and trembling, offered
their all in exchange for their lives. Among the rest, Kenana, with his
handsome wife, was brought in.

"They tell me, Kenana," said the prophet, "that you have immense wealth
stored up in this citadel. If you desire your life, inform me where this
treasure is."

"I have no treasure in the citadel," said Kenana, proudly; "and if I
had, the apostle of Azazil should not know of it."

The prophet's face colored with passion. "Apostle of Azazil! O
blasphemer!" he exclaimed. "Do you then thus defy the only, the true
prophet of Allah?"

"I do."

"Then we shall see what can be done with a stubborn infidel spirit!"
returned Mohammed. "Hither! Apply the torture!"

A machine of fiendish invention was applied to the chief's hands. His
fingers were squeezed until the bones cracked; his