"Then if a miracle could be proven, it would be no miracle to you?"

"Certainly not."

"And it could convince you of nothing?"

"Neither me nor any one else who has outgrown his childhood, I should
think. I have never been able to understand the outcry of the orthodox
over their lost miracles. It makes their position neither better nor
worse. The miracles could never prove their creeds. How am I to
recognise a divine messenger? He makes the furniture float about the
room; he changes that coal into gold; he projects himself or his image
here when he is a thousand miles away. Why, an emissary from the devil
might do as much! It only proves--always supposing he really does
these things instead of merely appearing to do so--it proves that he is
better acquainted with natural laws than I am. What if he could kill me
by an effort of the will? What if he could bring me to life again? It is
always the same; he might still be morally my inferior; he might be a
false prophet after all."

He took out his watch and looked at it, by this simple action
illustrating and reminding me of the difference between us--he talking
to pass away the time, I thinking aloud the gnawing question at my
heart.

"And you have no hope for anything beyond this?"

Something in my voice must have struck his ear, trained like every other
organ of observation to quick and fine perception, for he looked at me
more attentively, and it was in a gentler tone that he said--