We all have, if we know it.
Gradually, in many a long, quiet talk, during which she listened to his reasonings as probably she would have listened to no other man's, he contrived to reconcile Mrs.Bruce to the idea of parting with her boy -- their first separation, even for a day, since Cardross was born.

It was neither for very long nor very far, since civilization had now brought Edinburg within a few hours' journey of Cairnforth; but it was very sore, nevertheless, to both mother and son.
Helen took her boy and confided him to Mrs.Menteith herself; but she could not be absent for more than one day, for just about this time her father's "green old age" began to fail a little, and he grew extremely dependent upon her, which, perhaps, was the best thing that could have happened to her at this crisis.

She had to assume that tenderest, happiest duty of being "nursing mother" to the second childhood of one who throughout her own childhood, youth, and middle age had been to her every thing that was honored and deserving honor--loving, and worthy of love--in a parent.
Not that Mr.Cardross had sank into any helpless state of mind or body; the dread of paralysis had proved a false alarm; and Helen's coming home, to remain there forever, together with the thoroughly peaceful life which he had since lived for so many years, had kept up the old man's vitality to a surprising extent.

His life was now only fading away by slow and insensible degrees, like the light out of the sunset clouds, or the colors from the mountains--silent warnings of the night coming "in which no man can work." The minister had worked all his days--his Master's work; none the less worthy that it was done in no public manner, and had met with no public reward.

Beyond his own Presbytery the name of the Reverend Alexander Cardross was scarcely known.