I ruthlessly collected the lot, and, well-nigh swamped by the load, I carried them to the cottage door, where I laid all at the feet of the young mother.  She suddenly became an incarnate point of admiration, and could scarcely believe that I was sane, or that she was not dreaming when I explained my wish to make her a present.  If I had stayed an hour, I could not have dissipated her bewilderment, so I left the things to speak for themselves—­if she did not take them for infernal machines and throw them into the river.

It was evening when we arrived at Domodossola, and I felt nothing save cold resignation when told emphatically by the concierge of our chosen hotel that my quest was hopeless.

“You will have to go to Brig,” he said; and though he was an intelligent and worthy man, I could have smitten him to earth.

“You must abandon me to my fate,” I told Jack and Molly. “Il est trop fort. If I’m to walk the face of the earth, I want a pack-mule and a man; and, ‘somehow, somewhere, somewhen,’ I mean to have them.  But you’ve more than done your duty by me.  You can get back to Lucerne from here comfortably, without daring any more mountain passes and fines for law-breaking.  Since to Brig I must go, I’ll make a virtue of necessity, and walk over the Simplon, to see the tunnel and railway works.”

“Walk, if you will,” said Molly; “but if I know my Lightning Conductor and myself, we’ll see you through to the end, be it bitter or sweet.”

“Echo answers,” added Jack.  “If you want to see things clearly, you must have daylight, and if we wish to escape the arm of the law, we must fly by night, which means that we can’t join forces till the journey’s end.”

“You needn’t think we’re sacrificing ourselves, for we should love it,” Molly capped him.  “We’re having the jam of adventure spread thick on our bread now.”

“Well, then, everything’s settled,” said Jack, “except the start.”

Molly thought a day in Domodossola too much.  It was decided, therefore, that they should rest till eleven, and that the motor should be ready at midnight.  They could reach Brig between two and three, and being a posting town, the hotel people were sure to be up.  I was to start early in the morning, and meet my friends at Brig, after walking over the Pass.

I saw them off, and then plunged fathoms deep into sleep, dreaming of a land flowing with mules and donkeys.  At five, I was up, and was surprised to find that the despised Domodossola was a beautiful and interesting old town, with curiously Spanish effects in its shadowy streets, lined with ancient, arcaded houses.  I thought to save time and fatigue by taking a carriage to the frontier village of Iselle at the foot of the Pass, and was glad I had done so, for the road was rough and covered inches deep with a deposit of peculiar, grey dust.  But things mended when we climbed a hill, turned out of the main valley, and followed the course of the river Diveria into a lateral gorge of the mountains, the real porchway or entrance of the Simplon Pass.