oard, Hunding first becomes aware
of the strange resemblance he bears to his wife, and after
commenting upon it _sotto voce_, he inquires his guest's name and
antecedents. Siegmund then mournfully relates his happy youth,
the tragic loss of his mother and sister, his roaming life
with his father, and the latter's mysterious disappearance.
Only then does Hunding recognize in him the foe whom he has
long been seeking to slay.

Unconscious of all this, Siegmund goes on to relate how on that
very day he had fought single-handed against countless foes to
defend a helpless maiden, running away only when his weapons had
failed him and the maiden had been slain at his feet. Sieglinde
listens breathless to the story of his sad life and of his brave
defence of helpless virtue, while Hunding suddenly declares that,
were it not that the sacred rights of hospitality restrained him,
he would then and there slay the man who had made so many of his
kinsmen bite the dust. He however contents himself with making
an appointment for a hostile encounter early on the morrow,
promising to supply Siegmund with a good sword, since he has
no weapons of his own:--

'My doors ward thee,
Woelfing, to-day;
Till the dawn shelter they show;
A flawless sword
Will befit thee at sunrise,
By day be ready for fight,
And pay thy debt for the dead.'

Then Hunding angrily withdraws with his wife, taking his weapons
with him, and muttering dark threats, which fill his guest's
heart with nameless fear. Left alone, Siegmund bitterly mourns
his lack of weapons, for he fears lest he may be treacherously
attacked by his foe, and in his sorrow he reproaches his father,
who had repeatedly told him that he would find a sword ready
to his hand in case of direst need.

'A sword,--so promised my father--
In sorest need I should find--
Weaponless falling
In the house of the foe,
Here in pledge
To his wrath I am held.'

While he is brooding thus over his misfortunes, the flames
on the hearth flicker and burn brighter. Suddenly their light
glints upon the hilt of a sword driven deep in the bole of the
mighty oak, and, reassured by the thought that he has a weapon
within reach, Siegmund disposes himself to sleep.

The night wears on. The fire flickers and dies out. The deep
silence is broken only by Siegmund's peaceful breathing, when
the door noiselessly opens, and Sieglinde, all dressed in white,
steals int