She confronted grief as she would confront an antagonist force of any sort: it was something to be battled with, to be conquered.

Fate should not worst her: come what might, she would be the stronger of the two.

When the doctor said to her,-- "Mrs.Philbrick, I fear that your mother cannot live through another winter in this climate," Mercy looked at him for a moment with an expression of terror.

In an instant more, the expression had given place to one of resolute and searching inquiry.
"You think, then, that she might be well in a different climate ?" "Perhaps not well, but she might live for years in a dryer, milder air.
There is as yet no actual disease in her lungs," the doctor replied.
Mercy interrupted him.
"You think she might live in comparative comfort?
It would not be merely prolonging her life as a suffering invalid ?" she said; adding in an undertone, as if to herself, "I would not subject her to that." "Oh, yes, undoubtedly," said the doctor.

"She need never die of consumption at all, if she could breathe only inland air.