"O all-wise woman," said Gunnar, "what deed lieth under the tongue? What day for the dearth of the people, when the seed of thy sowing hath sprung?" She said: "Our garment is Shame, and nought the web shall rend, Save the day without repentance, and the deed that nought may amend." "Speak, mighty of women," said Gunnar, "and cry out the name and the deed That the ends of the Earth may hearken, and the Niblungs' grievous Need." "To slay," she said, "is the deed, to slay a King ere the morn, And the name is Sigurd the Volsung, my love and thy brother sworn." She turned and departed from him, and he knew not whither she went; But he took his sword from the girdle and the peace-strings round it rent, And into the house he gat him, and the sunlit fair abode, But his heart in the mid-mirk waded, as through the halls he strode, Till he came to a chamber apart; and Grimhild his mother was there, And there was his brother Hogni in the cloudy Niblung gear: Him-seemed there was silence between them as of them that have spoken, and wait Till the words of their mouths be accomplished by slow unholpen Fate: But they turned to the door, and beheld him, and he took his sheathed sword And cast it adown betwixt them, and it clashed half bare on the board, And Grimhild spake as it clattered: "For whom are the peace-strings rent? For whom is the blood-point whetted and the edge of thine intent?" He said: "For the heart of Sigurd; and thus all is rent away Betwixt this word and his slaying, save a little hour of day." * * * * * Again spake Grimhild the wise-wife: "Where then is Guttorm the brave? For he blent not his blood with the Volsung's, nor his oath to Sigurd gave, Nor called on Earth to witness, nor went beneath the yoke; And now is he Sigurd's foeman; and who may curse his stroke?" Then Hogni laughed and answered: "His feet on the threshold stand: Forged is thy sword, O Mother, and its hilts are come to hand. * * * * * "Ho, Guttorm, enter, and hearken to the counsel of the wise!" Then in through the door strode Guttorm fair-clad in hunter's guise, With no steel save his wood-knife girded; but his war-fain eyes stared wild, As he spake: "What words are ye hiding from the youngest Niblung child? What work is to win, my brethren, that ye sit in warrior's weed, And tell me nought of the glory, and cover up the deed?"