six o'clock
He was the right sort , Mr. Harry ! He would do ! -- and the Watcher of the House stole out again . Harry slept on , a great , dreamless sleep , grey and formless as sleep of utter exhaustion always is ; then he suddenly woke to the dim twilight of the room , the orange glow of the dying fire , and the distant striking of the hour -- it was six o'clock ! As he lay back in his chair , dreamily , lazily watching the fire , his thoughts were of his father . He had not known that he would regret him so intensely , but he saw now that the old man had meant everything to him during those first weeks of his return . He thought of him very tenderly -- his prejudices , his weaknesses , his traditions .