There was also some disgrace about his younger brother--my uncle Silas--which he felt bitterly.
He was now walking up and down this spacious old room, which, extending round an angle at the far end, was very dark in that quarter.

It was his wont to walk up and down thus, without speaking--an exercise which used to remind me of Chateaubriand's father in the great chamber of the Chateau de Combourg.

At the far end he nearly disappeared in the gloom, and then returning emerged for a few minutes, like a portrait with a background of shadow, and then again in silence faded nearly out of view.
This monotony and silence would have been terrifying to a person less accustomed to it than I.As it was, it had its effect.

I have known my father a whole day without once speaking to me.

Though I loved him very much, I was also much in awe of him.
While my father paced the floor, my thoughts were employed about the events of a month before.