The man grumbled when he awoke next morning at being thrown ashore with nothing in the world but an old jersey and a bag of tobacco, two hundred miles short of the port where he hoped to land with L1,500 in his pocket.

To Dr. Heale, and to the Rev. Frank Headley, the curate, who called upon him, he mentioned that his name was Tom Thurnall, F.R.C.S.

Later in the day Tom met the coastguard lieutenant and old Captain Willis on the shore, and the latter introduced him to “Miss Harvey, the young person who saved your life last night.”

Tom was struck by the beauty of the girl at once, but after thanking her, said gently, “I wish to tell you something which I do not want publicly talked of, but in which you may help me.  I had nearly L1,500 about me when I came ashore last night, sewed in a belt round my waist.  It is gone.”

Grace turned pale, and her lips quivered.  She turned to her mother and Captain Willis.

“Belt!  Mother!  Uncle!  What is this?  The gentleman has lost a belt!”

“Dear me!  A belt!  Well, child, that’s not much to grieve over, when the Lord has spared his life,” said her mother, somewhat testily.

Grace declared the money should be found, and Tom vowed to himself he would stay in that little Cornish village of Aberalva until he had recovered it.

So after writing to some old friends at St. Mumpsimus’s Hospital to send him down some new drugs, and to his father, he settled down as Dr. Heale’s assistant; and Dr. Heale being addicted to brandy and water, there was plenty of room for assistance.

III.—­The Cholera

Tom Thurnall had made up his mind in June 1854, that the cholera ought to visit Aberalva in the course of the summer, and, of course, tried his best to persuade people to get ready for their ugly visitor; but in vain.  The collective ignorance, pride, laziness, and superstition of the little town showed a terrible front to the newcomer.

“Does he think we was all fools afore he came here?”

That was the rallying cry of the enemy, and sanitary reform was thrust out of sight.

But Lord Minchampstead, who owned the neighbouring estates of Pentremochyn, on Mark Armsworth’s advice, got Tom to make a report on the sanitary state of his cottages, and then acted on the information.

Frank Headley backed up Tom in his sanitary crusade, the coastguard lieutenant proved an unexpected ally, and Grace Harvey promised that she would do all she could.

Tom wrote up to London and detailed the condition of the place to the General Board of Health, and the Board returned, for answer, that, as soon as cholera broke out in Aberalva, they would send down an inspector.

Then in August it came, and Tom Beer, the fisherman, and one of the finest fellows in the town, was dead after two hours’ illness.