e," answered Brynhild.

Gudrun stood still while Brynhild went up the river like a creature who
was made to be alone. "Why dost thou speak so to me, sister?" Gudrun
cried.

She remembered that from the first Brynhild had been haughty with her,
often speaking to her with harshness and bitterness. She did not know
what cause Brynhild had for this.

It was because Brynhild had seen in Sigurd the one who had ridden
through the fire for the first time, he who had awakened her by breaking
the binding of her breastplate and so drawing out of her flesh the thorn
of the Tree of Sleep. She had given him her love when she awakened on
the world. But he, as she thought, had forgotten her easily, giving his
love to this other maiden. Brynhild, with her Valkyrie's pride, was left
with a mighty anger in her heart.

"Why dost thou speak so to me, Brynhild?" Gudrun asked.

"It would be ill indeed if drops from thy hair fell on one who is so
much above thee, one who is King Gunnar's wife," Brynhild answered.

"Thou art married to a King, but not to one more valorous than my lord,"
Gudrun said.

"Gunnar is more valorous; why dost thou compare Sigurd with him?"
Brynhild said.

"He slew the Dragon Fafnir, and won for himself Fafnir's hoard," said
Gudrun.

"Gunnar rode through the ring of fire. Mayhap thou wilt tell us that
Sigurd did the like," said Brynhild.

"Yea," said Gudrun, now made angry. "It was Sigurd and not Gunnar who
rode through the ring of fire. He rode through it in Gunnar's shape, and
he took the ring off thy finger--look, it is now on mine."

And Gudrun held out her hand on which was Andvari's ring. Then Brynhild
knew, all at once, that what Gudrun said was true. It was Sigurd that
rode through the ring of fire the second as well as the first time. It
was he who had struggled with her, taking the ring off her hand and
claiming her for a bride, not for himself but for another, and out of
disdain.

Falsely had she been won. And she, one of Odin's Valkyries, had been wed
to one who was not the bravest hero in the world, and she to whom
untruth might not come had been deceived. She was silent now, and all
the pride that was in her turned to hatred of Sigurd.

She went to Gunnar, her husband, and she told him that she was so deeply
shamed that she could never be glad in his Hall again; that never would
he see her drinking wine, nor embroidering with golden threads, and
never would he hear her speaking words of ki