ds, while her
husband hunted all day, went to sleep as soon as he had his supper,
and was always surly and rough.

The huntsman's house was strangely built, with the trunk of an ash
tree in its very centre, while struck deep into its hole was a sword.
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, compassionately; 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