Here you are, Chapter Ten, not my favourite. Rochester's section is mainly just ranting, but I am trying to explain who Annabel is.

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Maria Nasmyth, née. Temple, placed down the letter with a heavy heart. She had never forgotten young Miss Eyre, just like she had never forgotten Helen Burns. Every one of her students had a character, an existence, a history; every on of her students had a reason to grieve, but some truly needed to get past these obstacles in order to reach their full potential. And Miss Eyre was one of these girls. A young woman with her entire life ahead of her, who had sought a companion's assistance, after so long out of touch.

And Maria grieved for Jane. She had to choose between everything, and nothing. Between mortal man, and God. And however easy that decision should be, Jane Eyre had a heart, a soul, and a mind. Jane Eyre needed to be loved by mortal man, and Maria Nasmyth knew this. Taking up a pen, Mrs. Nasmyth began to write a letter to her old student. The girl who had sought help at a vicar's doorstep. For Jane was, in so many ways, still a girl.

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What had she done? Why had she sent a letter to her old superintendant? It was a silly thing to do, showing that she hadn't grown up at all since she had first started at school. It showed that she was still the passionate, silly, immature and temperamental girl that had been sent to Lowood, eight or nine years ago.

She was still the orphan with no family or friends to speak of. She was still the girl who had been sent, across one hundred miles of land, to the charity institution, to gain some kind of education. And she had been under the illusion that she had grown up, matured, overcome the faults of her nature. She had been lying to herself for years. And now came the time of acquaintance.

As a child, she had run away from that, which if she had stayed, could only have made her stronger. And now she had the opportunity to run.

She had said that she couldn't run away; not from Thornfeild, not without warning. And she had tricked herself; she had told herself that, by advertising, by going somewhere in particular, that was not what she was doing. But she was still running away from the future that had been selected for her.

But she would live through the consequences that she had to face at her master's house, whatever they were. And if she didn't, there was a reason for that. The reason in question to horrific to consider.

She had sent a letter, requesting advice, to a distant friend, and hoped that the letter hadn't raised anybodies' curiosity. But she would stay, and continue to hope that Mrs. Nasmyth's letter would help her in the future, and possibly help renew an acquaintance long lost.

But the letter had only just been sent. She would have to wait a long while for the reply.

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Who was Mrs. Nasmyth? How did she know his Jane? How did his Jane know her? He needed to know these things, but was there really any way he could find this out?

He couldn't call Jane to the drawing room. Not with her blasted sprained ankle. What the deuce was he to do? Regain her confidence, hope she will stay, be patient. Well, it had worked the last time, until… and don't kiss her this time! Well, it was worth a try, and if she ever came to forgive him, to trust him once again, then he will have achieved his ultimate object.

But she would never love him, and that was too much to bear, and he couldn't continue his original plan. That was torture to too many people, so he would just have to sit it out, and hope he appeared, to her, to be amiable.

But, still lingering at the back of his mind, there was Annabel. A pretty young girl of seventeen, Annabel Price was the third daughter of a poor farmer, and was often the receiving end of his father's malicious scrutiny. And that was partially the reason young Rochester had gone looking for her. There were lots of other reasons, after he had spoken. She was frightfully bright, and would have been so much more intelligent, if only she had got a respectable education. And he could have provided that education, taking her around the world, experiencing a life with her.

But that was no longer. He was living in the present, and the future was ahead of him, and it would not do to live in the past.

Jane was in a room, somewhere above him, most likely preparing to send off that recommendation. But the fact that she hadn't already, he took that as a good sign. A good sign which made him think that maybe, just maybe, she was ready to forgive him, ready to trust him once more. And how much he wished she could forgive him; trust him. How much he wished he could be handsome, appealing, somewhere near her age. There was no real reason why she should like him at all. The way he acted in their earlier meeting, he was surprised she could even stand to be inn the same room as him, but he only hoped she would get better soon. He needed to be in company with her once again. To sit, from seven 'til nine, in the library, by the fire, and just talk with her. To talk in riddles; watch, as her eyes pondered out what he was saying, and listen to the carefully constructed response.

And then he would watch her blush slightly, as she gazed down at the flowers on the faded rug below her feet. All this, just because she had said something she didn't believe was polite. And how he praised propriety in those moments, and cursed it in all others. Propriety, morality, religion. The concepts that fuelled his Jane's mind. But if those things weren't there, she wouldn't be his Jane; she would just be another mercenary, flirty, but overall plain girl, like so many others.

And his Jane was none of those things.

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