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 veins swelled in agony; yet no sound escaped his lips. He could not, or would not, tell where the treasure was concealed, and he was handed over to a Moslem whose brother Kenana had slain. Manasseh closed his eyes in horror, for he knew that Kenana's fate was sealed. [Illustration: The Moslem's horse gives way beneath him!--See page 76.] Kenana's wife, Safiya, was taken by Mohammed, and on the homeward march she became the wife of the prophet. Manasseh lay there in great depression of spirit. He was weary in mind and cramped in body, and it almost seemed as though he were completely forsaken. Yet his ever-present source of comfort returned to him, and like a sweet refrain came the words into his mind: "Thou hast been a strength to the poor, a strength to the needy in his distress, a refuge from the storm, a shadow from the heat, when the blast of the terrible ones is as a storm against the wall." The half-starved Moslem troops now began to clamor for food, and the defenceless Jewish women were forced to prepare victuals and to serve their conquerors. Among these women entered Zaynab, the niece of Asru. She placed a shoulder of mutton before the prophet, then went towards the door. Perceiving Manasseh in the corner, she severed his bonds with a quick stroke of a small dagger, then, shielding him as best she might, she bade him begone. "Have hope!" she whispered in his ear. "I have poisoned the prophet."