’ She struggled. " "You have no son," rejoined Sir Rowland, moodily. He was silent. She drew it out with shaking fingers. But the free arm of the stranger hit him a flail-like blow on the chest and sent him sprawling into the yielding sand. When the disillusion comes, when the fairy story ends, if she is blessed with children, she doesn't mind. You must forgive the poet’s license I take. “Would they make her Queen?” She asked innocently. In the distance a bell clanged, and chattering broke out in the doorway as several nuns came crowding in. .
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