d on the blood-stained floor and the shield wall
encompassed Sigmund, and so they were both hoppled strait and fast.

The Goth-folk washed their hall of blood and got them to slumber, but
Siggeir lay long pondering what dire death he might bring on his foes.

Now at the first grey dawning Siggeir's folk dight a pit and it had
two chambers with a sundering stone in the midst. Then they brought
the Volsung kindred and set them therein, one in each chamber, that
they might abide death alone, and yet in hearing of one another's woe.
And over the top the thralls laid roofing turfs, but so lingering were
their hands that eve drew on ere the task was finished. Then stole
Signy forth in the dusk, and spake the thralls fair, and gave them
gold that they might hold their peace of what she did. And when they
gainsaid her nought she drew out something wrapped in wheat straw, and
cast it down swiftly into the pit where Sinfiotli lay, and departed.

Sinfiotli at first deemed it food, but after a space Sigmund heard him
laugh aloud for joy, for within the wrappings lay the sword of the
Branstock. And Sinfiotli cried out the joyous tidings to his
foster-father, and tarried not to set the point to the stone that
sundered them, and lo, the blade pierced through, and Sigmund grasped
the point. Then sawed Sigmund and Sinfiotli together till they cleft
the stone, and they hewed full hard at the roofing, till they cast the
turfs aside, and their hearts were gladdened with the sight of the
starry heaven.

Forth they leapt, and no words were needed of whither they should
wend, but they fell on King Siggeir's night-watch and slew them
sleeping, and made haste to find the store of winter faggots,
wherewith they built a mighty bale about the hall of Siggeir. They
set a torch to the bale, and Sigmund gat him to one hall door and
Sinfiotli to the other, and now the Goth-folk awoke to their last
of days.

Then cried Siggeir to his thralls and offered them joyous life-days
and plenteous wealth if they would give him life, deeming that they
had fired the hall in hatred. But there came a great voice crying
from the door, "Nay, no toilers are we; wealth is ours when we list,
but now our hearts are set to avenge our kin; now hath the murder
seed sprung and borne its fruit; now the death-doomed and buried work
this deed; now doom draweth nigh thee at the hand of Sigmund the
Volsung, and Sinfiotli, Signy's son."

Then the voice cried again, "Come ye