Before a wooden crucifix kneeled an aged hermit in deep devotion; he was not aware of the knight's entrance, but still continued in fervent prayer. A long white beard flowed down over his breast: years had ploughed deep furrows in his brow: his eyes were dim: he had the seeming of a saint. The knight took his stand at some distance from him, folded his hands across his breast, and repeated some Ave-Marias. Then the old man arose, dried a tear in his eye, and observed the stranger in his dwelling.
"Welcome to thee!" cried he, and offered the stranger a hand trembling with age.
The knight pressed it warmly; he felt his soul yearn towards him, and his reverence was transmuted into love.
"You did right to turn in here," continued the hermit, "for you will not find a village or a hostelry for many a league. But why so silent? Draw near to the fire and rest, and I will serve up such a little meal as this cave of mine can best supply."
The knight took the helmet from his head: his brown locks fell adown his neck: the old man gazed on him with a searching glance.
"Why does your eye wander so shily and unfixedly about?" he resumed, in a friendly tone.
The knight seemed to be collecting his thoughts. "A strange feeling of awe," replied he, "has seized on me since riding through that valley. Explain to me, if you can, the singular phenomenon which I there beheld: or perhaps it is not a spirit, but an inhabitant of these parts: and yet that is impossible; I saw him wave to and fro like the misty vapour in the gleam of the rising moon; and a cold thrill of fear drove me this way. Explain to me the riddle and the words which I heard through the whispering of the bushes."
"You saw the apparition?" said the hermit inquiringly, in a tone which betrayed a warm interest in the event; "well, be seated at the fire, and I will tell you the unhappy tale."
Both took their places. The old man appeared lost in thought. The knight was all attention; and after a short silence the hermit began:
"It is now thirty years since I roamed the land in quest of adventures and strife, just as you do now; since my locks flowed, just as yours do, over my shoulders, and my glance with equal boldness confronted danger. Grief has made me a decrepit old man before my time; not a trace can you now discover of the lusty warrior, who at that time won the respect of knighthood and the hearts of lovely girls. All is as a dream to me now, and my joys and sorrows are shrouded in the twilight distance. Farewell, ye happy days! scarce a faint glimmer from you now can reach my cold worn heart.