He grew less desponding, and--so sanguine and buoyant is youth--even hoped that affairs at Dotheboys Hall might yet prove better than they promised.
He was preparing for bed, with something like renewed cheerfulness, when a sealed letter fell from his coat pocket.

In the hurry of leaving London, it had escaped his attention, and had not occurred to him since, but it at once brought back to him the recollection of the mysterious behaviour of Newman Noggs.
'Dear me!' said Nicholas; 'what an extraordinary hand!' It was directed to himself, was written upon very dirty paper, and in such cramped and crippled writing as to be almost illegible.

After great difficulty and much puzzling, he contrived to read as follows:-- My dear young Man.
I know the world.

Your father did not, or he would not have done me a kindness when there was no hope of return.

You do not, or you would not be bound on such a journey.
If ever you want a shelter in London (don't be angry at this, I once thought I never should), they know where I live, at the sign of the Crown, in Silver Street, Golden Square.