"Well, I'll never forgive myself if anything happens to them, Bessie. I might have kept my temper, the way you and Margery did. They didn't do any more to me than they did to the rest of you. Oh, I am sorry, and I am going to try to control myself better after this."
Then they went on in silence for a time. Bessie felt sorry for Dolly, and she really did think that Dolly's conscience, now that it was beginning to awaken, was doing more than its share. It was unlike the care-free Dolly to worry about anything she had done, but it was like her, too, to accuse herself unsparingly once she began to realize that she might possibly be in the wrong. It was Dolly's old misfortune that was grieving her now; her inability to forecast consequences before they came along to confound her.
For a long time they had no results, and the blowing of horns and the occasional flash of a torch between the trees showed them that the others were meeting with no better success. Sometimes, too, Eleanor joined them for a moment. She could tell them nothing, and they continued to search with unabated vigor.
"Look, Bessie!" said Dolly, suddenly. She had lighted a torch to explore a gully a few moments before, and it was still burning brightly. Now it showed them the opening of what looked like a cave, black and dismal looking.
"Why, do you think they might be in there?" asked Bessie. "I'll blow my horn in the mouth. They'd hear that, and come out."
But blow as hard as she would, there was no answer. She turned away in disappointment.
"I'm afraid they're not there," she said.
"I'm going in to find out," said Dolly, suddenly. "They might not have heard us. You can't tell what that horn would sound like in there; it might not make any noise at all."
"Oh, I don't believe they're in there," said Bessie. "And I think it might be dangerous. There might be snakes there, or a hole you would fall into, Dolly."
"I don't care! This is all my fault, and I'm going!"