‘I know that, Father.’

‘And you do know how much I love you, don’t you, even if I haven’t been much of a father?’

Choked with emotion, and growing surer by the minute that his father knew something, Harry could not open his mouth to reply.

‘Sometimes, son, we make terrible mistakes. It can’t be helped, you know. We’re all human. We’re all weak.’

‘Not you, Father.’

‘Oh yes, son, especially me.’

‘Are you trying to tell me something, Father?’

‘No.’ Silas shook his head. He had said all he needed to. ‘Except maybe to remind you that I regret the time we’ve wasted, you and I. I was never there for you. I had to make a living, you see.’

‘I know that.’

‘Of course you do, son. Responsibilities bind us all, like a millstone round a man’s neck.’ His smile was serene. ‘The only way we can survive is by learning to love the millstone as if it was part of our very soul.’ Suddenly he was bright and alert, like a weasel popping up to see who was about. ‘There, you see, I’m just a silly old man feeling sorry for myself. Do you know the biggest regret of my life?’

‘Please, I would like to know.’

‘That you never took up tailoring. You remind me of your grandfather. Like him, you have a natural eye for good cloth and the way a suit should hang on a man. You’ve proven that many a time when you’ve watched me fitting. As a boy you’d say, “It’s too long,” or, “Look, Father, it’s all loose.” I recall a time when you even tucked a sleeve with your own tiny hands. And you’ve sat with me often enough as a boy to see how I make a suit out of a roll of cloth. Why did you never take it up? You could have been a better tailor even than your grandfather. For all my striving, I have never really matched him. Why, son? Why did you never turn your heart that way?’

Before Harry could answer, Silas waved his hand and took Harry’s glass from him. ‘I have to finish Squire Arnold’s waistcoat before tomorrow evening. Leave me now, son.’ Laying a hand on Harry’s shoulder, he said softly, ‘You’ve been a good son. I hope, in my own way, I have been a good father.’

‘Would you like me to stay?’ Harry asked. ‘I could watch you, like I used to.’

Silas shook his head. ‘Not tonight, thank you all the same.’ With that he bade Harry goodnight and watched him leave the room. He closed the door behind Harry and returned to his bench, but he did not resume his work. Instead he sat thinking over their conversation, and how he might have been a better father to that fine young man. It was too late now, he thought with a heavy heart.

For the first time in his life, the old man let his emotions spill over. Softly, all alone in that room, he allowed himself to weep. And the tears that rolled down his face were a blessed relief.