But in the winter of that very year Edward, while hunting, had an accident. For years he had made a practice of riding unmanageable horses, and he never heard of a vicious beast without wishing to try it. He knew that he was a fine rider, and since he was never shy of parading his powers, nor loath to taunt others on the score of inferior skill or courage, he preferred difficult animals. It gratified him to see people point to him and say, “There’s a good rider:” and his best joke with some person on a horse that pulled or refused, was to cry: “You don’t seem friends with your gee; would you like to try mine?” And then, touching its sides with his spurs, he set it prancing. He was merciless with the cautious hunters who looked for low parts of a hedge or tried to get through a gate instead of over it; and when any one said a jump was dangerous, Edward with a laugh promptly went for it, shouting as he did so-- “I wouldn’t try it if I were you. You might fall off.” He had just bought a roan for a mere song, because it jumped uncertainly, and had a trick of swinging a fore-leg as it rose. He took it out on the earliest opportunity, and the first two hedges and a ditch the horse cleared easily. Edward thought that once again he had got for almost nothing a hunter that merely wanted riding properly to behave like a lamb. They rode on, and came to a post and rail fence. “Now, my beauty, this’ll show what you’re made of.” He took the horse up in a canter, and pressed his legs; the horse did not rise, but swerved round suddenly. “No, you don’t,” said Edward, taking him back. He dug his spurs in, and the horse cantered up, and refused again. This time Edward grew angry. Arthur Branderton came flying by, and having many old scores to pay, laughed loudly. “Why don’t you get down and walk over?” he shouted, as he passed Edward and took the jump. “I’ll either get over or break my neck,” said Edward, setting his teeth. But he did neither. He set the roan at the jump for the fourth time, hitting him with his crop; the beast rose, and then letting the fore-leg swing, came down with a crash. Edward fell heavily, and for a minute was stunned. When he recovered consciousness, he found some one pouring brandy down his neck. “Is the horse hurt?” he asked, not thinking of himself. “No; he’s all right. How d’you feel?” A young surgeon was in the field, and rode up. “What’s the matter? Any one injured?” “No,” said Edward, struggling to his feet, somewhat annoyed at the exhibition he thought he was making of himself. “One would think none of you fellows had ever seen a man come down before. I’ve seen most of you come off often enough.” He walked up to the horse, and put his foot in the stirrup. “You’d better go home, Craddock,” said the surgeon. “I expect you’re a bit shaken up.” “Go home be damned. Confound!” As he tried to mount, Edward felt a pain at the top of his chest. “I believe I’ve broken something.”