Rising from the hearth, he gently wished her good fortune, and thanked her for her kindness to a friendless man, who must now pass on his way lest the sorrow which followed his footsteps should come to her; and, so saying, was about to leave the house when Sieglinde, who in some way felt that this man was to be her rescuer, sprang forward and begged him to stay, saying that as sorrow had dwelt in the house for many days she did not fear its coming. So he consented to remain until Hunding, who was out hunting, should return. Going back to the hearth, he stood there quietly looking, in a long silence, towards Sieglinde, and both felt, I think, that it was Fate that he, and none other, should stay and rescue her. So they stood silently waiting for the Robber’s return, and the fire crackled and glowed and flickered about the hall. Suddenly, Sieglinde started; for the sound of hoofs broke the stillness, and they could hear the Robber leading his horse to the stable. Almost directly afterwards the door opened, and Hunding himself came in. He was not a pleasant-looking creature, for he was very tall and very broad-shouldered, and as wild in appearance as a wolf, and his face was dark and angry. His long hair and beard were black and tangled, his eyes were fierce, and he wore queer, jangling armor and bands of steel on his bare arms. He stopped short, and sternly pointed to the stranger, glaring at Sieglinde in great anger. Reading a fierce question in his look, she answered, quietly: “I found this man weary upon the hearth. Need drove him into the house.” Hunding relented a little; and, after handing her his shield and weapons, said quietly to Siegmund: “Safe is my hearth! Safe for you is my house!” Then, turning to Sieglinde, he roughly bade her hasten with the supper. She bore away the heavy weapons and rested them against the tree in the centre of the hall; then went about arranging the evening meal. As they sat down on the rough seats around the scantily spread table, Hunding asked his guest his name, and whence he had come on so stormy a night. Sieglinde leaned eagerly forward as the warrior began his tale. He told them the story of his life, only calling himself Woful the Wolfing instead of Siegmund the Volsung. And when he came to the tale of the maiden and her kinsmen, and of how he had killed one of them, and fought the others until he was disarmed and driven into the forest, Hunding rose in great anger and stood looking at his guest with wrath in his eyes. “You win every one’s hate,” he declared. “My friends sent for me to help them revenge the shedding of blood. I went to their aid, but it was too late. Now, when I return, I find the enemy himself upon my hearth. They were my friends against whom you fought; and, though to-night custom makes you safe as a guest in my house, to-morrow you shall die, Wolfing! So be prepared!”