At intervals there came from beyond the city walls weird, plaintive cries, mysterious voices as of human creatures in pain; the sounds, borne on the wings of the night, seemed to come like arrows to the heart of Vashti, thrilling her with an unknown fear. The strange odor and the eerie sounds--what did they mean? The apparent unconcern of the men about the gate showed that to them at least these were familiar things. Conversing apart with Simon was a somewhat sad-eyed man, by name Manneus, the scribe appointed to take note of all the dead carried forth through the Valley Gate; for be it known that the bodies of the dead as being like to create a plague if allowed to remain in the city were collected at night by paid agents of the Sanhedrim, thrown upon carts, and carried out to be promiscuously flung, without funeral rites and without burial, into the ravines that surrounded Jerusalem; all which matters were as yet unknown to Vashti. “How many, think you, up to yester even have been borne forth from this gate?” asked Manneus of Simon. “Twenty thousand, perhaps,” replied the Zealot, hazarding a guess. “_One hundred and fifteen thousand, eight hundred and eighty_,”[30] returned Manneus, consulting his tablets. Even Simon, little prone to emotion, was staggered by these figures. “Fire of Gehenna!” he muttered. “And this is but one gate! How many from each of the other gates? Our Jewish brethren from foreign lands whose wish it is to be buried at Jerusalem seem to be having their wish,” he added grimly. “But, ah! whom have we here?” This last question was caused by the action of Vashti, who, moved by some uncontrollable impulse, came tremblingly forward, and addressed to him a pitiful plaint for bread. “Bread?” repeated the Zealot. “Why comest thou to me?” “Because you are as a king in this city.” “Captain,” said one of the Zealots, recognizing Vashti, “this damsel is of the Nazarenes, who were forever preaching the doom of the city. She is, moreover, the ward of Josephus, that traitor, who is high in the councils of the enemy.” “A Nazarene, true. Yet,” answered Vashti, eager to seize upon any argument that might influence the Zealot chief in her favor, “yet did I not quit the city, when the Nazarenes left it, but have remained behind to share the fate of my fellow-citizens. In the name of God,” she continued, addressing Simon, “give me bread. I ask not for myself, but for a dying child. Give me but one loaf, and on the resurrection morning, when all deeds will be brought to light, this shall be counted to you for righteousness.” “You shall have a loaf,” said Simon, moved strangely by her words, “you shall have a basket ... a basket filled with bread.” The bewildered Vashti could scarcely trust her hearing. “But ere you return home you must eat a morsel yourself, or you will faint by the way. Come with me.”