From the high fortress the robber-band of knights rode down the mountain, for they perceived the long-desired prey in the distance.
Beneath, by the quiet hermitage, appeared the pious old hermit, looked reprovingly upon them, and shook his silver-white locks.
"Ye wild knights!" he cried, "ye shall no longer bring disgrace and shame upon the honour of knighthood. No longer shall ye march forth to rob and plunder. Know, thou leader of thy robber-troop, thy time is expired. Enter my hermitage, confess, and take the communion, for thou shalt never again ride living into the valley."
But the proud knight fell in a rage at the solemn admonition. "Punish the old bird of ill omen!" he cried in a fury, and rode away.
Now the hermitage chapel is wrapped in flames, and the aged hermit sinks to the ground from many wounds.
Dying, he stretches forth his hands in pain, and cries after the retreating knight, "Ride on, ride till the judgment day; ride every night through the forests, till thy horse sinks exhausted under thee, and may no pious one meet thee, but only the foul fiend of perdition!"
Mourning, the robber-band rode back to the high castle, for their leader had fallen with his horse and broken his neck.
They laid him in the still vault, but he cannot enjoy the peace of the grave. When the moonbeams fall soft and pale on castle and rocks, he tears in a wild gallop on his black horse below into the quiet valley.
To the grave of the hermit is the ghostly ride, and there, a grey, bleeding shadow, stands the murdered old man.
And a ghostly voice whispers, "Ride on, wicked knight, till the day of eternal retribution; but do not terrify the good, only the wicked. And where the stumbling of thy horse once brought thee death, there shall thy ride end, there shalt thou stumble every night."