ot
see them. He saw a quiet home in Mecca, where a pale-faced wife, a
beautiful daughter, and two bright-eyed boys, sat.

"Manasseh," he said at length, "it may be that I shall be killed in this
battle. If I am and you are spared, go to my wife and children. Tell
them the Gospel for me. My great regret is that I myself put it off
until too late. Will you, Manasseh?"

Manasseh pressed his friend's hand warmly. "You may trust me, if I
live," he said simply. And the soldier was satisfied.

"Manasseh, I am rich," he continued. "See that my wealth is used for the
best."

Manasseh pressed his hand again, and the tall soldier left him, feeling
that, whatever happened, this young man's fidelity and integrity could
be depended upon.

And now the Moslem army began to weary of inaction. Several desultory
attacks were made by them, and battering-rams were set in play against
the walls, but with no effect, until a grand attempt was decided upon.
Night had scarcely faded into morning, and the rock of Mansela still
stood black and shapeless against a gray sky, when a commotion was seen
in the Moslem camp. Mohammed's troops no longer made the wild onslaught
of untrained Bedouin hordes. The experience of scores of engagements had
taught their leader the necessity of system; and now the host began to
move in regular order in three main divisions. Above the center one
floated the sacred flag of the prophet; to the right waved Ali's
standard, a design of the sun; and to the left fluttered the Black Eagle
of Abu Beker's division.

The battle began by an assault led by Abu Beker. Scaling-ladders were
placed, and the Moslems swarmed up the walls, but a desperate band led
by Al Hareth met them, and the besieging party, after a sharp fight, was
compelled to withdraw. Shouts of triumph and jeers of derision arose
from the city walls. The Moslems were frantic. Cries of vengeance were
heard from their ranks.

Then Ali, shouting, "For God and the prophet!" dashed forward. He was
dressed in scarlet, and wore a cuirass of steel. Over his head he waved
the prophet's sword, and at the head of his division floated a sacred
banner. Straight on he dashed towards a breach in the wall, and there,
on a pile of loose stones, he fixed the standard.

Al Hareth rushed to the fore, and a desperate, single-handed combat
ensued. The Moslem army and the garrison of the city alike held their
breath. The contest was unequal. In a moment Al Hareth had fallen,