Scene IV.—Victorian’s rooms at Alcalá. Hypolito asleep in an arm-chair. A clock strikes three. He awakes slowly.
Hyp. I must have been asleep! aye, sound asleep!
And it was all a dream. O sleep, sweet sleep!
Whatever form thou takest, thou art fair,
Holding unto our lips thy goblet filled
Out of Oblivion’s well, a healing draught!
The candles have burned low; it must be late.
Where can Victorian be? Like Fray Carillo,
The only place in which one cannot find him
Is his own cell. Here’s his guitar, that seldom