Now Regin well knew that no man could endure that frightful stream and live, and he wished to make an end of Sigurd when he had slain the beast. Therefore he answered wrathfully: "Of what use is it to give advice if thou art fearful of everything? Not like thy kin art thou, careless of perils."

With this undeserved taunt he rode away, for he himself was sore afraid, and dared not abide the coming of the dragon.

So Sigurd rode alone over the heath, and when he came to the marks where the tracks lay deep he began to dig a pit, as Regin had told him. But while he was busy at work an old man, wearing a big grey hat over his face, passed by and asked what he was doing. And when he had been told, he said:

"That was no wise advice that was given thee. Rather dig trenches in the midst of the dragon track, that the blood may run therein; and do thou then crouch in one of these and run thy sword through his heart as he drags his huge shape overhead."

And with these words he vanished.

Sigurd could not doubt the wisdom of this advice and he did as he had been bidden; and when he heard the dragon approaching he hid himself, his sword ready in his hand.

The roar of the dragon shook the earth for miles around, and Sigurd saw streams of venom issuing from his jaws as he drew near. But this did not affright him; he waited until the huge shape loomed overhead, and then thrust his sword, with all the strength he could command, as far as it would go into the loathsome breast.

Then followed a scene of violence beyond the power of words to express. A great roar, which shook the very heavens, went up from the cavernous throat, and well it was for Sigurd that he darted aside with the quickness of light. The huge coils unwound and contracted again in the monster's agony, and the furious lashing of his enormous tail utterly destroyed the surrounding vegetation, while his cruel talons, all powerless now to do aught else, ploughed deep furrows in the hard and rocky soil. All nature seemed to be undergoing its final convulsions in the few moments which elapsed ere the monster at length lay limp and gasping in the last throes of death.

Then, with the voice of Fafnir the dwarf, he asked in feeble accents: "Who art thou, and what is thy kin, that thou wast bold to lift weapon against me?"

And his foe made answer: "Sigurd am I called, of Volsung kin."