Every true knight marched to the conflict, and Volkmar girded on his sword, and the scarf that Liutburga had woven for him, and bade farewell to his beloved.
She stood on the battlements of her castle, and saw him ride away, and when she could see him no longer her sighs and tears burst forth.
Before the image of the Virgin she knelt daily, and prayed for his return; but her petitions seemed unheeded, for troops of combatants returned from battle, but nowhere could she see the plumed helmet of Volkmar, and all were silent and sad at her questioning.
An inexpressible sorrow seized her, she clad herself in mourning garments, grew paler than the flower that droops before the mighty frost, and refused to be comforted. She could no longer dwell among men, who understood not her grief, and sought the solitude of the forest.
One day in her solitary ramble she discovered this rocky cave, and here she resolved to retire, and spend the remainder of her days in contemplation and devotion.
But her sorrow gnawed at her heart, and she sank to the earth like a drooping flower. The death-angel came, and kissed away her tears.
But Volkmar was not fallen in battle, but had been only severely wounded and taken prisoner by the Wenden, and led away into their deep forests, and it was long before they gave him back his freedom.
He fled on the wings of love to the castle of Liutburga, and hearing of her retirement he penetrated the mountains to seek out the spot. At last he discovered the cave, and his heart was ready to burst with bliss.
He called loudly her name, but no voice answered, only the echo of the mountains. He climbed the mountain, and reached the entrance to the cave. There lay Liutburga in the moss. "She sleeps!" he thought.
Yes, she slept. The cheeks were ashy pale, the eye broken, cold and still the lips; she awoke no more at his call.