He was snarling and grumbling, being much enraged at being bound by the hated gods, and, above all, at having his beloved Tarnhelm in the hands of Logi, whom he especially detested. Also, he feared that he would be forced to give up the Ring, which he still wore on his finger; and, partly to prevent the gods from wishing for this, he soon consented to give them the hoard which his servants, the Nibelungs, had collected in Nibelheim. Touching the Ring with his lips, he murmured a command, or spell, and from the under-world came the little dark dwarfs bearing great loads of treasure, which they placed at his feet. Ashamed, and hating that they should see him a captive, Alberich loudly ordered them off with threats and harsh words, and then demanded that the gods should release him, while the Nibelungs crept back into the dark hole that led to Nibelheim. Logi, casting the Tarnhelm upon the pile, asked if the Dwarf should be freed. “He wears a bright Ring,” said the King God. “Let it be added to the heap!” “The Ring!” wildly cried Alberich. “The Ring! I will never give it up! It is mine!” “Thief! You stole it from the Rhine Children,” said Wotan. “Do you call it, then, yours?” and he tore the Ring from Alberich’s finger and placed it on his own. “Let him go!” he said to Logi, who obeyed, and the Nibelung was free. Rising from the ground, he glared horribly at the gods. “Listen to the spell I cast on the Ring!” he said, with a peal of wild laughter. “None who possess it shall ever through it come to happiness. Sorrow attends it, and whoever owns it shall know grief. His death shall be sad, his life a failure. This doom shall attend the Ring until it comes back to my hand. Hear the spell Alberich has placed on the Gold!” He laughed again, and vanished in the dark hole that led to Nibelheim. Wotan stood silently gazing at the Ring on his finger. Logi, looking off in the distance, saw Fasolt and Fafner nearing, with Friea. As she came closer, the gray mist began to clear slightly away, though it still hung about in heavy clouds, hiding Walhalla’s spires. Fricka, Thor, and Froh, quickly drawing near from another direction, spoke of the growing warmth and clearness of the air. “Dear sister, welcome back to us!” cried Fricka, as the giants strode out with Friea. But, when the two goddesses started forward to meet each other, Fasolt caught hold of his captive and held her fast. “Wait! Wait!” he cried. “Where is the ransom?” “Behold it!” said Wotan, pointing to the heap of treasure. The giants declared that when a pile of gold had been erected high enough to hide the Love Goddess from view, they would return her to the gods—but not before. Accordingly, a heap was made which, as it grew higher with added treasure, soon hid Friea entirely, save for a gleam of her bright hair, which Fafner’s keen eye descried. The Tarnhelm must go to hide it.