Eustace arrived first, in high spirits, but with his cloaths torn, and
his face bloody. Isabel was alarmed. "Nothing but a few scratches,"
answered he, "which I can cure with vinegar while you mend my coat. I
will tell you how I got them presently; but do you unpack the books,
while I take care of the poney. Stop a moment; there is something in the
cart you must not meddle with." Isabel inquired what it was. "Women are
so inquisitive," continued Eustace. "Well then, it is a lute;
Constance's own lute, which she lost the night of the fire." Isabel
inquired how he recovered it. "Fought for it," answered he; "I see you
will not be easy, so I must tell you all about it."
"The people of Fourness were very glad to see me, calling me Mr. Random,
and a great many more kind names; so we packed up the books, and they
sent some cheese for my uncle, and apples for Constance." "And nothing
for me?" said Isabel. "Pshaw," returned Eustace, "how you interrupt me;
I believe the apples are for you. So I came driving back very merrily,
and within a few miles of this village, I met a fellow carrying a box,
which I could perceive held a lute.
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