"No one. But do not distress thyself so soon. I am going to sally out with Matthew to scour the countryside, and if Sir John is anywhere near, surely we shall come upon him. Doubtless he hath merely met with some trifling accident that keepeth him back for a few hours." "Yes, Gertrude," put in Beatrice, laying her hand on her friend’s arm, "thy father is too hardy and experienced a warrior and horseman easily to come to harm. I will warrant he will be back ere day dawns. Nevertheless," she went on, turning to Edgar, "thou hadst better make search as thou hast purposed, Master Wintour, unless, indeed, thou art fearful of spoiling thy chances in the mêlée to-morrow by passing the night thus." "I care not a fig for the mêlée, so be it I can see Sir John back safe and sound," cried Edgar hastily, considerably nettled at the smile which accompanied the last remark, and, saluting, he turned on his heel and strode from the room. Here he paused for a moment, and, retracing his steps, told the ladies it would be useless for them to wait up longer, as the gates of the city would shortly close, and no one would be able to pass either in or out before daybreak. For some hours the night was moonlit, and Edgar and Matthew, dividing the countryside between them, scoured it for miles and miles around. Full of anxiety, for Edgar had communicated his fears to the man-at-arms, they rode hard and fast, with little regard for their own necks or the limits of the horses they bestrode, and by the time the sky clouded over so that further real progress was impossible, they had become convinced that Sir John was nowhere in the vicinity. Returning to the camp, Edgar called Peter to him. "Well, Peter, didst find out aught?" "Nay, sir. None hath seen the two men of late, so perchance they know naught of this matter, after all." "That, at least, is good news, and it may well turn out that nothing serious hath happened to Sir John. Now, Peter, I am going to lie down for an hour or two. Rouse me at daybreak, for I must acquaint the ladies Gertrude and Beatrice of the poor success of my search as soon as the city gates are open." Peter nodded and retired, and Edgar flung himself down just as he was, and almost instantly fell into a deep slumber. It was long after sunrise when he awoke, and furious with Peter for letting him sleep so long, he hurried to the lad’s tent. "Why did ye not call me, Peter?" he cried angrily. "All is well, Master Edgar. I have been into the town, and have told the ladies that there is no news, and that thou wert worn out with searching, and sleeping heavily. I have hopes that thou wilt make thy name in the mêlée to-day; but what chance would there be of thy doing thyself justice after wearing thyself out riding all night long?"