And blowing a long, clear call on his silver horn, he sprang into the sea of flame, and passed up the steep, fiery way that led to the Walküres’ rock. [Music: Love Motif] [Music: Motif of Siegfried the Protector] CHAPTER IV THE WALKÜRES’ ROCK The fire rolled and surged about him, the great red flames twisted around him, and in many colors the vistas opened here and there like rainbow avenues. For the colors in fire are more beautiful than those in an opal. As he passed up the steep way, and trampled the flames and beat them back, laughing at their scorching heat, they began to burn lower and sank into a narrow, bright circle of fire behind him; unobtrusive and not at all fierce, just, in fact, what they had been until a hero drew near to pass through them. Then they had done their best to keep him from their fair, sleeping captive; but they were conquered, the wild, bright flames; and they died down to almost nothing as the Volsung, still blowing a merry call on his horn, sprang up the rocks to the summit of the mountain. It was quiet and calm there, full of deep peace and silence. It seemed as if even the trees and flowers were asleep. No sound broke the stillness, no leaf moved or insect darted. It was as though Nature were laying her finger on her lip and saying, “Hush—hush! This place is enchanted.” It was broad day, and the blue sky, reaching overhead, seemed to smile down on the young hero as he stood gazing wonderingly about him. On one side stretched the dark wood, reaching down the mountain-side—the wood into which his mother had run, bearing the splinters of Nothung, so many years before. As he looked into the dark depths he was amazed to see a war-horse asleep under the trees. It was Grani, who had fallen under the same spell as his mistress. As Siegfried took a step forward, he suddenly stopped short in overpowering surprise. For before him, upon a rock, lay a figure clad in brightest steel, with shield and spear and helmet gleaming in the sun. “Is it a warrior?” thought the young Volsung, drawing near—for Mime had described to him the bright armor the great heroes wore in battle. “Perhaps,” thought Siegfried, as he bent over the sleeper, “he would rest better if his helmet were loosened.” And he unfastened it carefully and took it off. Masses of golden curling hair gleamed like sunny clouds about the fair face of the Walküre. “Ah, how beautiful!” cried Siegfried, softly. “The face is like that of the sun smiling between mists.” He bent down still lower.