The weapon had been driven so far into the tree's trunk, that only its hilt was to be seen. The house was poor, indeed, with only a table and some rough benches for furniture, and at one side, a fireplace where a dull fire flickered.

One night, while Sieglinde was about to prepare Hunding's supper, a handsome youth burst into the hut, seeking shelter from the storm. The room was empty and he stood at the open door, looking about for some one from whom he might ask a welcome; but all was silent and deserted; so he staggered to the hearth and sank down before the fire upon a great bearskin. He appeared to be exhausted as if he had fled far from some persistent foe. He wore no armour, had no arms, and was quite defenceless and worn.

"Whoever owns this shelter and warmth must share it with me for a moment," he sighed: "I can go no farther;" and he stretched himself before the welcome blaze.

Sieglinde, hearing a sound and thinking Hunding might have returned, came from an inner room. Upon opening the door the sight that met her eyes was the man upon her hearth-stone.

"Some stranger here!" She whispered to herself, a little afraid, for she was not able to see his half-hidden face. Poor Siegmund had no sooner stretched himself before the blaze than he fell asleep.

Presently Sieglinde drew nearer, looked into his face and saw that he was very handsome, besides being gentle in appearance.

"I wonder if he can be ill?" she thought, compa.s.sionately; and as she continued to look into his face a great feeling of tenderness and love for him crept into her heart. Half waking, he called for water, and Sieglinde gave it to him from the drinking horn. As she again bent to give him the water, he saw her for the first time, and he looked at her thoughtfully in his turn, and in his turn, too, he loved her. She appeared to him to be very beautiful and kind.

"Whose house is this?" he asked, at last, watching Sieglinde wherever she went.

"It is the house of Hunding, the hunter," she answered, "and I am Sieglinde, his wife."

"I wonder will he welcome a wounded and defenceless guest?" he asked with some anxiety.

"What? art thou wounded?" she demanded with solicitude. "Show me thy wounds that I may help thee."

"Nay," he cried, leaping to his feet; "my wounds are slight and I should still have been fighting my foes, but my sword and shield were shattered and I was left at their mercy. They were many and I could not fight them single-handed and weaponless. I must now be on my way.

I am but an ill-fated fellow, and I would not bring my bad luck upon thee and thy house." He started to go out of the door.

"Thou canst not bring ill-fate to me," she answered, looking at him sadly. "I am not happy here."

"If that be true," he said, pausing to regard her tenderly, "then I shall remain," and he turned back into the house.

_Scene II_

At that very moment, Hunding was heard returning. Sieglinde, hearing him lead his horse to the stable, opened the door for him, as was her wont, and waited for him to come in. When Hunding finally appeared, he paused at seeing Siegmund.

"Whom have we here?" he asked his wife, suspiciously.

"A wounded man whom I found lying upon the hearth-stone. I gave him water, and welcomed him as a guest." Hunding, hearing this, hung his sword and shield upon a branch of the dead ash tree, and taking off his armour, handed it to Sieglinde.

"Set the meal for us," he said to her in a surly tone, looking sharply at the stranger. Sieglinde hung the armour upon the tree and began to prepare the meal.

"You seem to have come a long way," said Hunding at last to Siegmund.

"Have you no horse?"

"I have come over mountain and through brake. I know not whither the journey has led me. I would find that out from thee; and may I ask who gives me shelter?"

"I am Hunding whose clan reaches far, and who has many kinsmen. Now for thyself?"

"I, too, have kinsmen who war for freedom. My father was a wolf and my mother is dead. I am the son of the Walsungs--a warring race. Once my father, the wolf, and I wandered together in the forest. We went to hunt, and upon our return we found our hut laid waste and my mother burned to ashes. Then, sadly, my father and I went forth again."

"I have heard of this wolfling," Hunding answered, frowning. "A wild and wolfish race, truly! Tell me, stranger, where roams thy father, now?"

"He became the game of the Neidlings--they who killed my mother; but many a Neidling has been destroyed in his pursuit. At last my father must have been slain. I was torn from him, but later escaped from my captors and went in search of him. I found only his empty skin, and so I was left alone in the forest. I began to long for the companionship of men and women; but I was mistrusted; whatever I thought right, others thought wrong, and that which others thought well of appeared to me to be evil. Thus, in all my wanderings, I found no friend. In truth my name is Wehwalt: Woe. I may never find love and kindness.

Foes wait ever upon my track. Since I am a wolf's son, who will believe that I have loving thoughts?" Hereupon, Sieglinde looked at the handsome yet sorrowful stranger with great tenderness.

"Tell us, guest, how thy weapons were lost?" Hunding insisted.

"Willingly I shall tell thee. A sorrowing maid cried for help. Her kinsmen thought to bind her in wedlock to one she did not love; and when she cried to me to free her, I had to fight all her kinsmen single-handed. I slew her brothers and while protecting her as she bent above their bodies, her people broke my shield and I had to flee."

"Now I know you," Hunding shouted, rising and glaring at the young wolfling. "I was called to battle with my kinsmen--they were your foes! He who fought us fled before I could reach the battling place, and here I have returned to find my enemy in my house! Let me tell you, wolf-man, my house shall hold you safe for the night, since you came here wounded and defenceless; but to-morrow you must defend yourself, for I will kill you."

At that Hunding moved threateningly toward Siegmund, but Sieglinde stepped between them, regarding Siegmund with a troubled face.

"As for thee," said Hunding to her roughly; "have off with thee! Set my night-draught here and get thee to bed!"

Sieglinde took from the cupboard a box of spices from which she shook some into the drinking horn in which she was making the night-draught.

All the while she moved about she tried to direct Siegmund's eye toward the sword hilt which gleamed upon the ash tree; but Hunding was not pleased with her and drove her from the room to her bed-chamber.

Then taking the armour from the tree he glowered darkly at Siegmund.

"Look well to thyself, to-morrow," he said; "for I mean to kill thee."

Then he followed Sieglinde to the inner chamber.

_Scene III_

Siegmund sat down, sad and lonely, while the lights burned out and the fire flickered lower. The wolf-man with his head in his hands thought gloomily upon his unhappy fate. Never was he to find friends, though he was true and honest and meant harm to no man.

"I have no sword," he thought; "hence I cannot defend myself against Hunding. If only I could find, somewhere in the world, that enchanted sword of which my father told me!" he cried, aloud in his despair.

Suddenly, the logs in the fire fell apart and the flame flared high--it was Loge doing the bidding of Wotan, who, from Walhall, was watching the movements of the Universe--and in the blaze the sword hilt could be seen shining upon the tree. The gleam caught Siegmund's eye, but he did not know what he saw.

"What is that so bright and shining?" he said to himself. "Ah, it must be the memory of dear Sieglinde's brilliant eyes, which rested so often upon that spot before she left the room. It is because I love her and think of her that I fancy I see a jewel shining in the dark."

Musing thus he became sadder than before. Again Loge flamed up high, and again Siegmund saw the gleam of the sword, but still he did not know what he saw, so the lonely wolf-man was again left in darkness.

Then the chamber door softly opened and Sieglinde stole into the room.

She had left Hunding sleeping.

"Guest," she whispered. "Art thou sleeping?" Siegmund started up joyfully.

"It is Sieglinde?" he whispered back.

"Listen! Make no sound. Hunding lies sleeping, overcome by the heavy drink that I have given him. Now, in the night, fly and save thy life.

I have come to show thee a weapon. Oh, if thou couldst make it thine!

Many have tried, but all have failed. It is only the strongest in all the world who can draw it from its strange sheath." Siegmund's glance wandered to where she pointed, and rested upon the sword hilt which the flame had shown him.

"I was given by my kinsmen to the cruel Hunding," she continued; "and while I sat sad and sorrowful on my wedding night, and my kinsmen gathered around rejoicing, there entered an old man, clad all in gray, his hat pulled low over his face, and one eye hidden; but the other eye flashed fear to all men's souls but mine. While others trembled with fear, I trembled with hope; because on me his eye rested lovingly. He carried a sword in his hand, and with a mighty stroke, buried it deep in the ash tree.

"'Only he who has a giant's strength can draw that sword,' he cried.

After that, guests came and went, came and went, tried and tried; but none could draw the sword. So there it cleaves until this day. Ah! if thou couldst draw it out and save thy life! He who draws that sword shall also deliver me from Hunding," she added, wistfully.

At that, Siegmund leaped up and clasped her in his arms:

"Then in truth shall I draw it. It is I who shall free thee. And who but the G.o.d Wotan put the weapon there for thy deliverance? Thou sayst he had but one eye! Did not Wotan give one of his to win his wife, Fricka? Thou hast been guarded by the G.o.ds themselves," he cried, and again clasping her to his breast he promised to free her forever from Hunding. "It is the weapon told of by my father, the wolf," he declared; and while they stood thus, the outer door swung noiselessly open and the moonlight streamed in.