A cloud hung over the bishopric—the ancient patrimony of Saint Cuthbert.
Bishop van Mildert had died and, sede vacante, great changes were impending, for Parliament was about to shear off a large portion of the privileges of the ancient franchise, to reduce the endowments, and to hand over the mines to the Ecclesiastical Commission.
The Reverend Arthur Egglestone—the youngest of the 'Golden Canons' and Lord of the Manor of Midhope, high up in Weardale—sat in his spacious, oak-panelled dining-room above the Wear, discussing the situation with his two companions over a very recherché supper prepared by the French chef of the Dean and Chapter.
The time was Lent, the eve of Good Friday, but the 'Golden Canon' had forgotten the season in his perturbation and his desire to show hospitality to a distant cousin newly arrived from America, who was full of curiosity and admiration of the city and cathedral of Saint Cuthbert.
His other guest was a Minor Canon who had just been appointed to instruct and train the choir-boys of the cathedral.
The 'Golden Canon' was of an imposing figure, a fine type of the English country gentleman of the old school—admirably fitted for the post of Chairman of Quarter Sessions.
It was not that he had mistaken his vocation so much as that his vocation had mistaken the canon, for owing to the death of his two elder brothers—one by an accident out hunting, one by drowning at sea when admiral—he had unexpectedly succeeded to the family seat and rich possessions.
On this very day he had driven himself into his prebend's house in the close in his four-in-hand to welcome his young American cousin.
The 'Golden Canon' was of a sturdy build, fair of complexion, a lover of field sports, and an excellent judge of a horse and good claret.