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 into the room. She glides up to the sleeping guest and
gently rouses him, bidding him escape while her husband is
still sound asleep under the influence of an opiate which she
has secretly administered:--

'It is I; behold what I say!
In heedless sleep is Hunding,
I set him a drink for his dreams,
The night for thy safety thou needest.'

Leading him to the oak, she then points out the sword, telling
him it was driven into the very heart of the tree by a one-eyed
stranger. He had come into the hall on her wedding day, and had
declared that none but the mortal for whom the gods intended
the weapon would ever be able to pull it out. She then goes
on to describe how many strong men have tried to withdraw it,
and warmly declares it must have been intended for him who had
so generously striven to protect a helpless maiden. Her tender
solicitude fills the poor outcast's famished heart with such
love and joy that he clasps her to his breast, and, the door