Kristin and the women from Jörundgaard came into the graveyard south of the church at a place where the fence was broken. The huge red glare lighted up the grove of trees north of the church and the green by it where there were bars to tie the horses to. None could come thither for the glowing heat—the great cross stood alone out there, bathed in the light of the flames. It looked as though it lived and moved. Through the hissing and roar of the flames sounded the thudding of axes against the staves of the south wall. There were men in the cloister-way hewing and hammering at the wall, while others tried to tear down the cloister itself. Someone called out to the Jörundgaard women that Lavrans and a few other men had followed Sira Eirik into the church, and now ’twas high time to cut a passage through the south wall—small tongues of flame were peeping out among the shingles here too; and should the wind go round or die down, the fire would take hold on the whole church. To think of putting out the fire was vain; there was no time to make a chain down to the river; but at Ragnfrid’s bidding the women made a line and passed water along from the little beck that ran by the roadside—it was but little to throw on the south wall and over the men working there. Many of the women sobbed and wept the while, in terror for the men who had made their way into the burning building, and in sorrow for their church. Kristin stood foremost in the line of women handing along the pails—she gazed breathless at the burning church—they were both there, inside—her father—and surely Erlend too. The torn-down pillars of the cloister-way lay in a tangled mass of timber and shingles from its roof. The men were attacking the inner wall of staves now with all their might—a group of them had lifted up a great log and were battering the wall with it. Erlend and one of his men came out of the little door in the south wall of the choir, carrying between them the great chest from the sacristy—the chest Eirik was used to sit on when he heard confession. Erlend and the man flung the chest out into the churchyard. He shouted out something, but Kristin could not hear; he dashed on at once into the cloister-way. Nimble as a cat he seemed as he ran—he had thrown off his outer garments and had naught on him but shirt, breeches and hose. The others took up his shout—the choir and the sacristy were burning; none could pass from the nave to the south-door any longer—the fire had blocked both ways of escape. Some of the staves in the wall had been splintered by the ram—Erlend had seized a fire-hook and with it he tugged and wrenched at the wreckage of the staves—he and those with him tore a hole in the side of the church, while other folks cried to take care, for the roof might fall and shut in the men inside; the shingle roof on this side too was burning hard now, and the heat had grown till ’twas scarce to be borne.