He returned the same answer again and again, when pressed to go in and see her before he went out with his gun in the morning. At length, as he sat at breakfast one day, he was startled by Tiny creeping up to him, just as she had slipped out of bed.
"Oh, daddy, why didn't you come to me?" she said, with a little gasping sob, throwing her arms round his neck.
"My deary, my deary," he said, in a choking voice, gathering her in his arms, and kissing her, while the tears rolled down his weather-beaten face.
"Oh, daddy, don't you love me," said Tiny; "that you didn't come to see me all these days?"
"Love you, my deary? Ah, you may well ask that, after what I've done to yer; but it was just because I did love yer that I kept away from yer," he went on; "I thought you'd never want to see yer cruel old daddy any more; and as for me, why I'd punish myself by not trying to see yer, or get back your love. That's just how it was, deary," said the fisherman, as he looked tenderly at the little pallid face.
"But, daddy, I love you, and I wanted you all the days," said Tiny, nestling closer to him as she spoke.
"Bless you, deary, I believe you're one of God's own bairns, as well as a sailor's lass," said Coomber.
"I wanted you all the days, daddy; but—but—don't—come—at—night," she added, in a hesitating tone.
"I know what you mean; mother's told me, little 'un," he said, drawing his sleeve across his eyes, and sighing.
"I can't help it, daddy, I can't help it," said the little girl, with a sob.