He never left her.

Hunting, shooting, fishing, dinner parties, everything was given up that he might sit with her.
One of the drawing rooms, a beautiful, lofty apartment looking over the park to the hills beyond, was arranged as my mother's room; there all that she loved best was taken.
The one next to it was made into a sleeping room for her, so that she should never have to be carried up and down stairs.

A room for her maid came next.

And my father had a door so placed that the chair could be wheeled from the rooms through the glass doors into the grounds.
"You think, then," she said, "that I shall not grow well just yet, Roland ?" "No, my darling, not just yet," he replied.
What words of mine could ever describe what that sick room became?
It was a paradise of beautiful flowers, singing birds, little fragrant fountains and all that was most lovely.

After a time visitors came, and my mother saw them; the poor came, and she consoled them.
"My lady" was with them once more, never more to walk into their cottages and look at the rosy children.