All this made Wotan very unhappy, for he loved Siegmund, and already in his heart had forgiven him for what he had done. Yet he knew that all wrong must bring punishment, and asked Fricka what she wished him to do.
“Call back the Walküre!” said the Queen Goddess, and there was a look of triumph on her face. “Break the Volsung’s sword! Promise me!”
There was a pause.
“I—promise,” said the god, covering his face with his hands.
Triumphant and satisfied, Fricka drove away, and, as she went, Brünnhilde, who had returned while the King and Queen were talking together, and had led her horse into a cave near by, came to her father, asking why he seemed so sorrowful.
Tenderly drawing her to him, he told her the story you know so well, of the stealing of the Gold, the building of Walhalla, and the prophecy of Erda. He told her of the day of which the Earth Witch had spoken, when the world would be in twilight and gloom—the Dusk of the Gods.
He told her, too, the hopes he had had of the great deeds to be done by Siegmund. He let her see how it filled him with the deepest sorrow to overthrow the Volsung. But the Volsung had taken advantage of the Law of Hospitality, and Wotan had promised that he would overthrow him; and the promise must be kept. He bade her vanquish Siegmund in the coming battle and give the victory to Hunding; then, heart-broken, he wended his way among the rocks, and was gone.
Sadly Brünnhilde gazed after him. Her heart, too, was aching, because, though she loved to carry heroes to Walhalla, she loved still more to aid them in battle. She went slowly into the cave.
It was growing darker. Now, from out the gloom that filled the rocky gorge came Siegmund and his beautiful wife, Sieglinde, seeking rest in a sheltered place. Sieglinde was almost exhausted, for the way they had come was long and hard; and, after trying vainly to make her tired limbs carry her farther, she fainted at the young Volsung’s feet. Tenderly he carried her to a rock near by, and, seating himself upon it, gently supported her and stooped down to listen to her breathing.
As he raised his head, satisfied that she still lived, a grave, sweet voice sounded on his ear. He turned his eyes to where stood a beautiful woman in white and steel, one arm on the neck of her horse. It was the Walküre, who, according to her custom, came to warn the man who was shortly to be killed in battle. It grew still darker.