If I in my little sphere can by this book lead one father to train his children to be more strong and self-reliant, one mother to teach her daughters a purer, more patient, more heroic womanhood--if I have placed one more barrier in the tempter's way, and inspired one more wholesome fear and principle in the heart of the tempted--if, by lifting the dark curtain a moment, I can reveal enough to keep one country girl from leaving her safe native village for unprotected life in some great city--if I can add one iota toward a public opinion that will honor useful labor, however humble, and condemn and render disgraceful idleness and helplessness, however gilded--if, chief of all, I lead one heavy-laden heart to the only source of rest, I shall be well rewarded, whatever is said of this volume. CONTENTS CHAPTER I THREE GIRLS CHAPTER II A FUTURE OP HUMAN DESIGNING CHAPTER III THREE MEN CHAPTER IV THE SKIES DARKENING CHAPTER V THE STORM THREATENING CHAPTER VI THE WRECK CHAPTER VII AMONG THE BREAKERS CHAPTER VIII WARPED CHAPTER IX A DESERT ISLAND CHAPTER X EDITH BECOMES A "DIVINITY" CHAPTER XI MRS. ALLEN'S POLICY CHAPTER XII WAITING FOR SOME ONE TO TURN UP CHAPTER XIII THEY TURN UP CHAPTER XIV WE CAN'T WORK CHAPTER XV THE TEMPTATION CHAPTER XVI BLACK HANNIBAL'S WHITE HEART CHAPTER XVII THE CHANGES OF TWO SHORT MONTHS CHAPTER XVIII IGNORANCE LOOKING FOR WORK CHAPTER XIX A FALLING STAR CHAPTER XX DESOLATION CHAPTER XXI EDITH'S TRUE KNIGHT CHAPTER XXII A MYSTERY CHAPTER XXIII A DANGEROUS STEP CHAPTER XXIV SCORN AND KINDNESS CHAPTER XXV A HORROR OF GREAT DARKNESS CHAPTER XXVI FRIEND AND SAVIOUR CHAPTER XXVII THE MYSTERY SOLVED CHAPTER XXVIII EDITH TELLS THE OLD, OLD STORY CHAPTER XXIX HANNIBAL LEARNS HOW HIS HEART CAN BE WHITE CHAPTER XXX EDITH'S AND ARDEN'S FRIENDSHIP CHAPTER XXXI ZELL CHAPTER XXXII EDITH BRINGS THE WANDERER HOME CHAPTER XXXIII EDITH'S GREAT TEMPTATION CHAPTER XXXIV SAVED CHAPTER XXXV CLOSING SCENES CHAPTER XXXVI LAST WORDS CHAPTER I THREE GIRLS It was a very cold blustering day in early January, and even brilliant thronged Broadway felt the influence of winter's harshest frown. There had been a heavy fall of snow which, though in the main cleared from the sidewalks, lay in the streets comparatively unsullied and unpacked. Fitful gusts of the passing gale caught it up and whirled it in every direction. From roof, ledges, and window-sills, miniature avalanches suddenly descended on the startled pedestrians, and the air was here and there loaded with falling flakes from wild hurrying masses of clouds, the rear-guard of the storm that the biting northwest wind was driving seaward. It was early in the afternoon, and the great thoroughfare was almost deserted. Few indeed would be abroad for pleasure in such weather, and the great tide of humanity that must flow up and down this channel every working day of the year under all skies had not yet turned northward.