his chin and mouth quivering under the stubbly, iron-grey beard,
and the lump working in his throat; and one strong hand
gripped the other very tight behind, but his eyelids never quivered --
only his eyes seemed to grow more and more sad and lonesome.
These are the sort of long, cruel moments when a man sits or stands
very tight and quiet and calm-looking, with his whole past life
going whirling through his brain, year after year, and over and over again.
Just as the digger seemed about to speak to them he met
the brimming eyes of his little girl turned up to his face.
He looked at her for a moment, and then turned suddenly and went below
as if pretending to go down for his things. I noticed that Mitchell
-- who hadn't seemed to be noticing anything in particular --
followed him down. When they came on deck again we were right alongside.

"'Ello, Nell!" said the digger to the eldest daughter.

"'Ello, father!" she said, with a sort of gasp, but trying to smile.

"'Ello, Jack, how are you getting on?"

"All right, father," said the boy, brightening up, and seeming
greatly relieved.

He looked down at the little girl with a smile that I can't describe,
but didn't speak to her. She still stood with quivering chin and mouth
and great brimming eyes upturned, full of such pity as I never saw before
in a child-face -- pity for him.

"You can get ashore now," said Mitchell; "see, they've got the gangway
out aft."