I needs must you, Don Luis, whose last letter
Told of a gleam of hope in that dark quarter.
Luis. A sickly gleam—you know the ship he sail’d in
Was by another vessel, just escaped
The selfsame storm, seen to go down—it seem’d
With all her souls on board.
Juan. But how assured
’Twas your son’s ship?—
Luis. Alas, so many friends
Were on the watch for him at Barcelona,