“Exists?” said MacIan in his monotonous way, settling his pewter pot on the table.

“Yes, in a real sense nature does not exist.  I mean that nobody can discover what the original nature of things would have been if things had not interfered with it.  The first blade of grass began to tear up the earth and eat it; it was interfering with nature, if there is any nature.  The first wild ox began to tear up the grass and eat it; he was interfering with nature, if there is any nature.  In the same way,” continued Turnbull, “the human when it asserts its dominance over nature is just as natural as the thing which it destroys.”

“And in the same way,” said MacIan almost dreamily, “the superhuman, the supernatural is just as natural as the nature which it destroys.”

Turnbull took his head out of his pewter pot in some anger.

“The supernatural, of course,” he said, “is quite another thing; the case of the supernatural is simple.  The supernatural does not exist.”

“Quite so,” said MacIan in a rather dull voice; “you said the same about the natural.  If the natural does not exist the supernatural obviously can’t.”  And he yawned a little over his ale.

Turnbull turned for some reason a little red and remarked quickly, “That may be jolly clever, for all I know.  But everyone does know that there is a division between the things that as a matter of fact do commonly happen and the things that don’t.  Things that break the evident laws of nature——­”

“Which does not exist,” put in MacIan sleepily.  Turnbull struck the table with a sudden hand.

“Good Lord in heaven!” he cried——­

“Who does not exist,” murmured MacIan.

“Good Lord in heaven!” thundered Turnbull, without regarding the interruption.  “Do you really mean to sit there and say that you, like anybody else, would not recognize the difference between a natural occurrence and a supernatural one—­if there could be such a thing?  If I flew up to the ceiling——­”

“You would bump your head badly,” cried MacIan, suddenly starting up.  “One can’t talk of this kind of thing under a ceiling at all.  Come outside!  Come outside and ascend into heaven!”

He burst the door open on a blue abyss of evening and they stepped out into it:  it was suddenly and strangely cool.

“Turnbull,” said MacIan, “you have said some things so true and some so false that I want to talk; and I will try to talk so that you understand.  For at present you do not understand at all.  We don’t seem to mean the same things by the same words.”

He stood silent for a second or two and then resumed.

“A minute or two ago I caught you out in a real contradiction.  At that moment logically I was right.  And at that moment I knew I was wrong.  Yes, there is a real difference between the natural and the supernatural:  if you flew up into that blue sky this instant, I should think that you were moved by God—­or the devil.  But if you want to know what I really think...I must explain.”