Jack hung down his head in solemn silence, for he felt extremely awkward. He _had_ a favourite lass; he felt he had; and no one knew it but himself; and if he should toast her, he felt that he should be laughed at. He remained in a state of painful suspense, between doubt and fear. A thousand thoughts revolved in his mind, whether he should not give a fictitious name, or some one whom he had heard of, or only knew by sight; but then appeared the certainty of some of them congratulating the person he might happen to mention, and so bringing him into a scrape. He thought also of dissimulation, and a lie, at which Jack's honest nature revolted. But if he should really tell his sweetheart's name! He felt for her, he felt for himself, and he remained a long time without uttering a word. "Come, Jack, my boy, what's the matter? Give us your favourite lass! What makes you flinch, my lad?" Jack remained silent, until some began to think he meant to shirk the subject. The fact is, that Jack had really some notion of bolting, and once or twice he cast a sidelong glance at the door, with the full intention of an escape; but Will Riches, perceiving this, most unceremoniously bolted the door; and, as the jug stood close by him, he declared he would know Jack's sweetheart before another drop should be drunk. "Come, Jack," says he, "why not give us at once the girl you love best?" "Because she does not love me," was Jack's quick reply. Here was a most significant glance from one to another round about the room; and more than one whispered to his neighbour, "Who is it?" Not a soul could tell, for no one had the slightest idea who the girl could be who would refuse so honest a fellow as Jack Barry. Some began to think that Jack had stepped out of his latitude, that he had dared to aspire to the master's daughter; some, that it was Matilda Baker, the grocer's girl; others set it down as Lucy Harper, of Stratton. But, be the damsel whom she might, Jack's speech had set such a spirit of curiosity a-working, that the married men hoped to know for their wives' sake, and the single ones for their mistresses' amusement. Jack had got further into the mire by his floundering, and every one saw that he was struggling all he could to escape. "Well, Jack, who is she? Who is she? Do we any of us know her?" "Yes, all of you." Here they were all out at sea again. "It must be the master's fair daughter," said Ned Palmer to his neighbour. "I don't think it," was the reply; "but he is not willing to tell us, and it's hardly fair to press him." "It's a law, a positive law--I've told mine," says John Ruddock, "and I don't see why he should flinch from the name. I must have it." "The name! the name!" exclaimed one or two resolute fellows.