This subject was guessed, and Mrs. Arabin proceeded to describe "a besieged town, surrounded by the besiegers; at the head of whom, mounted on a charger, is a young woman apparently about twenty-seven years of age. Look well in her face: you see no want of courage there, yet no masculine coarseness--a calm dignity pervades her countenance. She wears a helmet, a sword is by her side, and she carries a white standard on which is depicted the Virgin Mary. But I need not go on, for I see by your faces that you have already guessed my heroine. When you are a little more advanced in German, Edward, you must read Schiller's beautiful play founded on this history." "Was she not burnt as a witch?" enquired Mary. "That is a disputed point," answered her aunt; "some writers say this was her fate at Rouen, but others state that she returned to her native village, Domrenci, and married." "I hope she did," added Emily; "but do you think, mama, there are such people as witches?" "No, my love," replied Mrs. Arabin; "only the ignorant and superstitious believe in them; and in former days, when there was less knowledge, and above all, less knowledge of true religion, such a belief was very common. Some persons in Dorsetshire and in Lincolnshire, are foolish enough to credit their existence even now." "May I tell a story, mama?" asked Willie. "Certainly, my child." "Well, then, you must fancy a small dark room with but little furniture in it, the cold stone walls plainly telling us that the royal person in the midst of the group is a prisoner. He is preparing to undress, whilst attendants are taking the head off an immense butt of liquid; it looks like wine, for the man nearest to the cask appears as if he would like a little very much." "Perhaps he would," remarked Mary; "but I think your hero soon had more than he liked." "Mary has guessed," said Willie. "Louisa, you never tell any stories; do try and relate something very pretty." "Something more about little babies," added Alfred. "That is rather hard," said Louisa, "for little babies have not often much to do in history or pictures either; but I think I can tell you a very shocking story about two little boys, who were one night fast asleep in bed, in a large room. Two men carrying lanterns have crept softly up to them, and are just putting the pillows and bolsters over their poor little faces." "Oh! do not tell me any more about that story," interrupted Alfred; "tell me about soldiers again. I do not like it," he added, nestling his head on his mama's shoulder. "Miss Graham told me that story in the school-room one day, and I cried; I could not help it, mama." "If that story be really true, it is indeed shocking," said Mrs. Macdonald; "but I believe the mode of the little princes' death is very much questioned: however, it is certain that their wicked uncle did make away with them in some manner."