In spite of my restlessness I had to go slowly, for after the first rush downhill I realized that, unless I was careful, I might wreck the car and spoil everything.  The surface of the road on the southern slope of the mountains was a thousand per cent worse than that on the other.  I skidded and side-slipped, and once grazed the edge of the gorge.  It was far more maddening than the climb up, for then it had been a straight-forward grind with the Daimler doing its utmost, whereas now I had to hold her back because of my own lack of skill.  I reckon that time crawling down from the summit of the Staub as some of the weariest hours I ever spent.

Quite suddenly I ran out of the ill weather into a different climate.  The sky was clear above me, and I saw that dawn was very near.  The first pinewoods were beginning, and at last came a straight slope where I could let the car out.  I began to recover my spirits, which had been very dashed, and to reckon the distance I had still to travel . . .  And then, without warning, a new world sprang up around me.  Out of the blue dusk white shapes rose like ghosts, peaks and needles and domes of ice, their bases fading mistily into shadow, but the tops kindling till they glowed like jewels.  I had never seen such a sight, and the wonder of it for a moment drove anxiety from my heart.  More, it gave me an earnest of victory.  I was in clear air once more, and surely in this diamond ether the foul things which loved the dark must be worsted . . .

And then I saw, a mile ahead, the little square red-roofed building which I knew to be the inn of Santa Chiara.

It was here that misfortune met me.  I had grown careless now, and looked rather at the house than the road.  At one point the hillside had slipped down—­it must have been recent, for the road was well kept—­and I did not notice the landslide till I was on it.  I slewed to the right, took too wide a curve, and before I knew the car was over the far edge.  I slapped on the brakes, but to avoid turning turtle I had to leave the road altogether.  I slithered down a steep bank into a meadow, where for my sins I ran into a fallen tree trunk with a jar that shook me out of my seat and nearly broke my arm.  Before I examined the car I knew what had happened.  The front axle was bent, and the off front wheel badly buckled.

I had not time to curse my stupidity.  I clambered back to the road and set off running down it at my best speed.  I was mortally stiff, for Ivery’s rack was not good for the joints, but I realized it only as a drag on my pace, not as an affliction in itself.  My whole mind was set on the house before me and what might be happening there.

There was a man at the door of the inn, who, when he caught sight of my figure, began to move to meet me.  I saw that it was Launcelot Wake, and the sight gave me hope.

But his face frightened me.  It was drawn and haggard like one who never sleeps, and his eyes were hot coals.