_Mrs. Harte._ Maurice, listen to me--listen to me! ... If it went out about you this day, isn't it destroyed forever we'd be? Look! The story wouldn't be east in Macroom when we'd have the bailiffs walking in that door. The whole world knows he is to be priested next June, and only for the great respect they have for us through the means o' that, 'tisn't James McCarthy alone, but every other one o' them would come down on us straight for their money. In one week there wouldn't be a cow left by us, nor a horse, nor a lamb, nor anything at all!... Look at them books. 'Tis about time you should know how we stand here.... God knows, I wouldn't be hard on you at all, but look at the great load o' money that's on us this day, and mostly all on your account. _Maurice._ Mother, don't make my cross harder to bear. _Mrs. Harte._ An' would you be seeing a heavier cross put on them that did all that mortal man and woman could do for you? _Maurice._ Look! I'll wear the flesh off my bones, but in pity spare me! _Mrs. Harte._ And will you have no pity at all on us and on Owen here, that have slaved for you all our lives? _Maurice._ Mother! Mother! _Mrs. Harte._ You'll go back? 'Tis only a mistake? _Maurice._ Great God of Heaven!...you'll kill me. _Michael._ You'll go back, Maurice? The vocation will come to you in time with the help of God. It will, surely. _Maurice._ Don't ask me! Don't ask me! _Mrs. Harte._ If you don't how can I ever face outside this door or lift my head again?... How could I listen to the neighbors making pity for me, and many a one o' them only glad in their hearts? How could I ever face again into town o' Macroom? _Maurice._ Oh, don't. _Mrs. Harte._ I tell you, Maurice, I'd rather be lying dead a thousand times in the graveyard over Killnamartyra-- _Maurice._ Stop, Mother, stop! I'll--I'll go back--as--as you all wish it. Nine months later there is general rejoicing at the Hartes': _Maurice_ has passed his examinations with flying colors; he is about to be ordained, and he is to officiate at the wedding of his brother _Owen_ and his wealthy bride. _Ellen Harte_ plans to give her son a royal welcome. Great preparations are on foot to greet the return of _Maurice_. He comes back--not in the glory and triumph expected by his people, but a driveling idiot. His mental struggle, the agony of whipping himself to the hated task, proved too much for him, and _Maurice_ is sacrificed on the altar of superstition and submission to paternal authority. In the whole range of the Irish drama "Maurice Harte" is the most Irish, because nowhere does Catholicism demand so many victims as in that unfortunate land. But in a deeper sense the play is of that social importance that knows no limit of race or creed.